The Doctor, Detective and Company
by paige-after-paige
Summary: Through an odd series of events, Sherlock and John end up adopting two teenage girls. Also tells the story of Jim Moriarty and his biological daughter. When their paths cross, humor, feels and a tiny bit of angst ensues as these men realize what their family truly means to them. Johnlock, MorMor, and some fluff later on!
1. Chapter 1: Dad

**Author's Note: So, a friend and I had the idea of this story after having a conversation on how AWESOME it would be to have the cast of Sherlock as our family. We don't own Sherlock; BBC does, and unfortunately Moffat (because he repeatedly breaks our hearts). Paige and Adrienne are based on ourselves, and Andrea (you'll meet her later) after one of our best friends. Everyone else is from Sherlock. Enjoy! **

Chapter One: Dad

Our story begins at a noisy little orphanage on the corner of Basinghall Lane. It wasn't a horrid place like most story orphanages would have you believe; in fact, it was rather nice. On the front, in large block letters were the words Chancery Orphanage. If you were to venture inside, you'd see lots of kids, of all sizes, shapes and ages, each with a story of their own. This particular tale, however, centers around two young girls in the place.

A bell rang, calling the kids to the cafeteria for breakfast. Paige's eyes shot open, to see a face right above hers.

"Boo."

Startled, she sat straight up and banged foreheads with the other girl.

"Agh!" Cried Adrienne, Paige's unwelcomed alarm clock. "You butt!" Rubbing her forehead, the Asian girl backed away and muttered. "My face is totally going to swell and bruise now, thanks."

"Well if you weren't, y'know, chilling right above my _face_, it wouldn't have happened!" Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, then her wounded head, Paige looked at Adrienne.

"Bitch bag." Said Adrienne.

"Slut sack." Paige retorted.

"Village bicycle."

"Go back to your street corner, tramp."

..And then, they both burst out laughing.

Paige and Adrienne were best friends, sisters in all but blood. They thought just about the same, saying things together and then looking at each other in mock amazement. They'd been left outside the orphanage doors when they were newborns, Adrienne in early December, during a snowstorm; Paige, the pale American girl, only 2 months later a little after Valentine's Day . Though she was younger, Paige still stood 6 inches above her bestie's 5 feet. They were absolutely inseparable.

"Adi, are you going out for breakfast?"

"Nah, not really hungry. Yo-"

_THUMP._

Adrienne cut off, and looked at the window. Paige looked around in confusion. Then, she saw what had caused the ruckus.

There was a man, impossibly tall, wearing a black trench coat and a blue scarf, climbing through their window.

He froze and stared at them.

They stared back.

Adrienne was the first to break the silence, albeit very quietly. "Ummm...can we help you?"

"If you're a rapist, I'm afraid we can't."

* * *

John entered the flat, greeting Mrs. Hudson as he went. Opening the door to him and Sherlock's living space, he stopped in his tracks.

This was, by far, the weirdest thing Sherlock had ever been immersed in. There'd been goldfish in the freezer, a tiger Sherlock had skinned on the kitchen table, and lots and lots of body parts all over the place. But now, there were two CHILDREN sitting on the armchair together, opposite Sherlock and laughing as he narrowed his eyes in concentration.

"Er, Sherlock? You wanna explain what's going on?"

"-and telling by the marks on your skin," Sherlock looked at Adrienne, "and your chewed nails," looking at Paige, "you both have anxiety problems. As you're attempting not to pick your fingers at the moment, I can see that you do it absentmindedly until you are reminded of it. And as for you, you do it out of annoyance at the mark already there. Your hair is somewhat flat, telling me that you both shower in the mornings, but didn't have a chance to before I climbed in your window-"

At this, John stared at Sherlock, disturbed and _very_ confused.

Sherlock was finishing his analysis; "You're orphans, which explains the anxiety or stress, and you're extremely close to each other, meaning that you've spent your lives together and never met your real families."

John thought this was highly insensitive, as he'd just now found out that they were orphans. But to his surprise, they applauded.

"Geez, you're awesome!"

"Bravo, my good sir!"

Sherlock tried to hide his smile unsuccessfully by holding his hands together in a steeple against his mouth. He looked up expectantly at his flatmate. "John, we're keeping them."

"Um... No offense to you two," said John, looking at the girls, "but can I borrow Sherlock for a moment? We need to... Talk."

Paige looked between them. "You guys are a-d_or_-able."

"I second that motion."

Grabbing Sherlock by the arm, he hauled him into the kitchen. He could hear the unexpected visitors laughing and chattering away in the next room.

"For one, who are they?! What have you been telling them about us? And- just what is going on?!"

Sighing, Sherlock explained in a huge run-on sentence. "So, I was running from a rabid dog that was chasing me down the street after I fell on top of him, involving a clothesline and a lack of timing. It had almost caught me, and I didn't have a gun on me, so I ran straight for the closest building: that orphanage down on Basinghall's. They had their window open, so, naturally I climbed in and they saw me. Awkward situation right there. But someone in the hall heard my voice; deep, manly voice such as it is.""

John scoffed.

"A woman came in, came in, a horrid looking old lady with a positively makeup painted face- really, it looked like she'd dunked her face in a bucket of the stuff- and before she said anything, the girls yelled, "Run" and hauled me out of the window. So, we ended up here. I didn't tell them anything, they _assumed_ a relationship between us automatically. As most people do. I was simply giving them a demonstration of my work, as they didn't believe I was a detective."

"You mean showing off," John quipped. "We have to take them back, Sherlock! I don't have anything against kids, despite the fact that we're not the best people to be taking care of them, but that's counted as kidnap! You idiot!"

"I don't think there's any real danger. That woman yelled 'good riddance' after them, and had a look of utmost relief on her face when she slammed the window. Glass practically fell out. They are quite interesting children, I like them."

"If I recall correctly, you've described children as 'drunken midgets'. What changed your mind?"

"Oh, they are, generally. But Adi and Pai-" he ignored John's incredulous expression. "-what, I can give people nicknames. They're more like... Hyperactive pandas."

After a facepalm from John, Sherlock put his fists in the air and closed his eyes. "VICTORY. Ok, girls, you can stop hiding now."

Paige walked in, hunched over laughing, and repeated "DRUNKEN MIDGETS-" when she a last caught her breath. Adrienne took one look at all three of them, and exploded as well.

"..You sure about this?" Whispered John.

"Absolutely."

* * *

They passed the day doing whatever came to mind. They threw darts at the wall (and almost impaled Mrs. Hudson), put various things in the microwave, and generally frolicked about the flat. Arrangements had been made for the time being; Sherlock slept on the couch, as he usually did. John took one bed and Adrienne the other. Paige could sleep anywhere, so she kipped on the squishy armchair in the living room.

The adults were just about asleep. The great detective was surprisingly childlike, much to John's dismay. Now he had _three_ to look after. Admittedly, life was a lot more fun with the girls around; they could be responsible, but were random and clever at the same time. Like a toned-down version of Sherlock, but more reasonable as they weren't psycho/sociopaths.

Well, as far as he knew. John had walked in on Adrienne shaking spoons around in a jar full of vinegar, and Paige explained that "her friends needed to be punished."

People would absolutely talk now, as it appeared they had a full out family. The blatant rumors about him and Sherlock, a supposedly gay couple living together, were bad enough- but all suspicions would be confirmed if the public caught wind that they'd adopted children.

All in all, however, it was a nice life. He already felt very protective of them, Adrienne especially. As she was the only one in their new family standing below 5"6, they all saw Adrienne as the 'baby of the family'.

John decided to go check on everyone, and opened his door with a creak. He walked down the stairs and back into the living room, seeing Paige and Sherlock both passed out. Continuing in, he came to Adrienne's room.

The light was on, and at first he thought she was awake, but after knocking with no reply he continued in.

She was asleep after all. He couldn't help thinking that she looked like a little Filipino angel. He smiled, and started to leave- when her eyes opened.

"John?" She murmured, rubbing an eye with a fist.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Was just checking up."

She yawned. "Hello."

"Why are you sleeping with the light on?" he questioned, speaking softly.

"I don't like the dark. Anything could be hiding in it.."

He nodded. "Right. Well, goodnight." He started out of the room until Adrienne, still groggy with sleep, stopped him.

"John? I never got a chance to say thanks... For letting us stay here. You and Sherlock are amazing."

John smiled at her. "Hey, no problem." He was always awkward trying to say things like this. "We're kind of like a family now, I guess."

"John, are you and Sherlock... Y'know, together?"

John fiddled with his thumbs. "I don't really know. I'm pretty sure I'm not gay, but it sure seems like we're a couple, huh? I don't know whether he is or not."

"Ahh." Said Adrienne, her eyelids drooping a bit. "Can I call you Dad, though?"

John almost died, he was so touched. Blinking back emotion, he cleared his throat and nodded.

"Sure. Absolutely." Then, he left her to the sleep that was quickly overcoming her.

In the next room, Paige woke up after an odd dream about jellyfish. Looking over at Sherlock, she saw one eye open. "Sherlock? You awake?"

"Awake is a relative term for being aware of one's surroundings, which I am."

"Wow. Big words. Just kidding," she grinned, after Sherlock's head flopped to the side to glare at her.

"Why aren't you in dreamland?"

"Thinking."

"I see. Have you figured out how to cure cancer yet?" she joked, then held up her hands in mock surrender when he glared again. "Ok, ok! But, I've been meaning to ask. Are you and John together? I mean, Adi and I assumed, but it's always good to double check..."

Sherlock put the heels of his hands to his eyes. "No. We're not."

To his surprise, a "Dang it!" emanated from the armchair.

"You want us to be?"

"I don't know, it's your choice. But you guys are like an old married couple, so why you're not is odd."

Sherlock hmmm'ed, closing his eyes. "Anything is possible."

"Awesome sauce." She cheered quietly. "But, would you be averse to us calling you 'dad'?"

Sherlock's eyes opened, and he looked over at her. Neither said anything for a while.

"I...suppose.. That would be fine."

And so, they all fell fast asleep, happy and content in the company of their new-found family.

* * *

Tired out from the previous day, they slept late. John was the exception, because he only needed 3 hours at most; He was blogging upstairs, away from the others who'd been sleeping for 12.

Adrienne was the first to get up. Paige was awake, just didn't feel like moving just yet, and Sherlock was still dead to the world.

They both made their way to the kitchen eventually, raiding the fridge. Finding a box of Kellogg's, Adrienne sat at the small rectangular table. Finding a carton of eggs, Paige set to making breakfast.

She cracked an egg. "So, how are you liking it here?"

"I love those two so much, I might explode!" Adi replied through a mouthful of the yellow crunchies.

Paige laughed, "Same here. This really feels like home."

The sizzle of the eggs filled the room, occasionally popping. The designated egg-maker turned the heat down, and said, "I asked Sherlock last night if he and John were a couple, and he said no. Doesn't it seem like it, though?"

Adrienne almost choked in her hurry to answer. "I _know_! I asked John, he said no, too! They're totally in denial." She winked. "We should... Give them a push, don'tcha think?"

Totally abandoning the eggs, Paige dashed to the living room where Sherlock had left his phone. Picking it up quietly off the coffee table, she tiptoed back, making sure he didn't wake up.

Returning to the eggs that were close to being done, she passed the phone to her adoptive sister. "Text John 'I love you' and let's see what happens."

They grinned wickedly at each other, and Paige slid the eggs off the skillet and onto 3 plates. But just as Adrienne pressed the SEND button, a roll of paper towels fell over- straight onto the burner.

"Oh, _crap_!" Paige yelled, trying to find part of the roll that fire had not engulfed, so she could pick it up and throw it into the sink, but to no avail.

They looked at each other, and then yelled, "DAAAAAAD!"

John heard a yell from downstairs, the word 'dad' distinct. He got up immediately, sprinting down the stairs as fast his military-trained legs would allow, and flew into the kitchen followed by Sherlock hot on his heels.

"What's wrong, what's going on?" John questioned, before seeing the ball of fire on the kitchen counter. Engaging in some explicit language, he yanked the sprayer from the sink and let the fiery wooden countertop have it.

The fire alarm went off, and Sherlock clutched his ears in pain. "Make it stop!" He cringed, and Adrienne ran to it and started fanning the smoke away from the alarm. After a few more annoying beeps, it fell silent along with everyone else in the house.

They all stared at Paige, John wearily, Sherlock slightly annoyed. Adrienne's face couldn't be read, as she was hiding it in her hands.

"You set. The kitchen. On fire," Adrienne sighed.

"I'm so, so sorry!" Paige jumped in. "It was an accident, the paper towels fell over on the burner and- gah. I suck. I'm so sorry." She hung her head in shame.

John put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it was an accident. Happens to everyone. It's over now, so let's not dwell on it."

Relieved, the would-be pyromaniac gestured to the table. "Well, if it'll help redeem me, I made eggs…"

Sherlock immediately forgave her.

Their fathers sat down and started eating, much to Paige's relief.

"Good going!" Adrienne whispered as they left the kitchen. "They adopted us, and you freaking set fire to their house. Encore, encore."

"That can be arranged." Paige joked, and continued. "And anyway, I'm free of all charges. You heard John, the past is the past!" She struck a dramatic pose, with her fists on her hips and foot up on the table.

In the kitchen, John paused and looked at his best friend. "When did they start calling you 'dad'?"

"Paige asked if she could last night. You?"

"Adrienne asked then too. Well, if my weak powers of deduction tell me anything, I know that's going to get confusing really fast. Both of us called by the same name?" John explained. Sherlock stood up, taking his plate to the sink, immediately making everyone in the vicinity feel short.

Overhearing this, Adi popped her head into the doorway. "We could call one of you 'Dad', and one of you 'Daddy'. That sound ok?"

Sherlock abruptly spun around and raised his hand high in the air. "I CALL BEING DADDY."

There was another moment of silence as all three stared at him.

"…Alright, good to have some enthusiasm…? I think?" announced Paige. "So, what's on the agenda for today? More terrorizing of Mrs. Hudson?"

John was too immersed in his eggs to propose anything, so Sherlock set to it. "Hmmm, better give the lady a break. How would you feel to going to Scotland Yard with us?"

Adrienne punched Paige on the arm. "See, I told you they were mad. We're under arrest because _you_-"

Sherlock started chuckling, which turned into a laugh. "No, no! There's just some interesting stuff you might enjoy there. There's a shooting range, and I could show you around the lab I work in?"

Their faces lit up. "Field trip!"

Then John's phone beeped. Pulling it out of his back pocket, he read;

_I love you. ~SH_

He held it up to the sender. "…What is this?"

* * *

A bit later, they made their way to Sherlock's lab. To prevent more mischief, John had provided them with cookies in the cab. It was a bit cramped with four people in it, but no two wanted to leave the other two behind. Sherlock was becoming strangely adamant about the girls' safety.

Opening cabinets, Paige saw something interesting and just about squealed. "Squids!" Beaming, she took a jar of the pickled things and pranced up to Sherlock. He was still a giant to her, so she looked up at him and blinked innocently. "Can we dissect them? Pleeeeease?"

He consented, and opening more drawers, he found tiny scalpels. Giving one to Adrienne, she set to work on stabbing her squid to death (a second time).

Sherlock hesitated before giving a knife to Paige. "Are you positive that you won't destroy or maim anything?"

Laughing, she nodded. Receiving the knife, she proceeded to cut off the arms.

John watched the spectacle for a while, amused by the three. They stayed there for a while, not noticing it get dark outside. Looking at his watch, the doctor did a double take. "Guys, it's almost 10!" Seeing a calendar on the wall, "and you have school tomorrow!"

The girls groaned, but nobody was more dejected than their newly christened Daddy. The whole way home to 221B, Sherlock was pouting.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Hit that review button harder than we ship Johnlock. You know you want to.**


	2. Chapter 2: School Day Disaster

**Authors Note: Aaaand, here's chapter two for you. I don't own Sherlock. (I don't have to put that on every chapter, do I?) **

Chapter Two: School Day Disaster.

Sherlock had never been in such a foul mood. John sighed, breaking the silence in the awkward room. Adrienne and Paige were not exactly the happiest about this decision, but he thought it was for the best.

Paige shifted in her seat, trying to think of something to say. "Maybe it won't be so bad…?" Paige directed the statement to Sherlock, but he was too upset to answer.

"Oh, come on, it's not like I'm sending them back to the orphanage, Sherlock!" John argued.

"You might as well be! Leaving them in a place filled with... _people_..for 6 hours every day, away from me!"

Adrienne cringed; she hated it when they fought. For no particular reason, she had always hated the way it sounded when people argued.

Putting an arm on her skyscraper-tall father's shoulder, Paige tried comforting him again. "Hey, it'll only be for a few hours. You won't even notice we're gone!"

Sherlock sighed, and accepted the inevitable. Walking over to them, he pulled them both in a big, unexpected hug.

This surprised all three; Sherlock was definitely not... a_ hugger_.

Adrienne liked the way it felt to be held by him. Paige enjoyed the way he smelled.

From that day on, both girls became even more attached to him. To John's utter astonishment, Sherlock gently kissed them both on the forehead before reluctantly letting go and stomping back to the table.

"See you later, Dads," Both girls said in unison, making sure it was plural.

"We hadn't even finished dissecting the giant squid." Sherlock mumbled, and John rolled his eyes.

"You're still on that?" He looked over at his girls. With much shorter arms than Sherlock, he could only hug one at a time.

Adrienne wrapped her arms tightly around him. He hugged her back, and followed Sherlock's example of kissing the girl on the forehead.

"Dad…" Adi whimpered softly into his new sweater.

John instantly regretted the decision of sending them to school.

He looked over at Paige, absentmindedly picking at the skin on her fingers. He let go of Adrienne and went over to her, hugging her just as tightly; Paige and John always had a strange connection. Don't mistake the girls, they were all equally close in their odd family-But John was just like her. They both had the biggest hearts.

The girls walked to the door, away from the best things that had ever happened to them. Their fathers sadly waved, John with a cup of coffee, and the girls couldn't help but look back several times at the flat before entering the hell called a cab.

* * *

The car stopped, and there it was; Their worst nightmare. Birmingham Middle School. They slid out of the cab reluctantly.

There were so many people hustling and bustling around, chattering about pointless things. Adrienne felt shabby in her jeans, button down and scarf that Sherlock gave her. She was suddenly terrified, and held on to Paige's hand. She grasped onto it tightly and smiled reassuringly though she was just as scared.

The shorter girl looked up at the other. "Paige, what goes on in their funny little minds?"

"I have no idea. But it's quite frightening."

School went on like this for a while; luckily, Sherlock had come into the school earlier and blackmailed the principal, Mr. Jenkins, into letting the girls have every class together. He had said something about the Assistant principal and lotion.

One day, though, there was another new kid. Paige hadn't shown much interest in him; well, neither had Adrienne, until she saw the boy. He was short, like her, but still taller than Adrienne. He was in their first class of the day, his blond hair verging on long, but spiked up just perfectly. Her heart raced as their eyes met. Paige noticed, and nudged Adrienne in the ribs playfully.

"You like him."

"No I don't."

"Who d'ya think ya kidding…"

"No Paige."

"He's the earth and heaven to you! Try to keep it hidden- honey, we can see right through you! Girl, you can't conceal it! We know how you feel, and who you're thinkin' of!"

Adrienne joined in on Paige's sudden outburst of song. "No chance, no way, I won't say it, no no!"

"You swoon, you sigh, why deny it? Oh-oh!"

They both stopped when the class started staring at them. The blond boy chuckled, and Adi's heart leaped.

* * *

Adrienne and Cullen talked more and more every day. Eventually, she began to get the idea that he liked her.

One day, before going to the school she'd been attending for two months now, she hummed a love song softly to herself and tried extra hard with her wardrobe and makeup.

Adrienne bumped into Sherlock before getting into the car with John.

"Sorry, Daddy!"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in a calculating fashion. He bent down and got so close to her face that they were merely inches apart, zooming in on the details. She fidgeted anxiously where she stood.

"You curled your hair and put on makeup today. Which I don't think was necessary. You're wearing the scarf I gave you, that you _know_ makes your eyes look even bigger." He noticed a lot more things before mentally coming to a conclusion that he hated voicing aloud- "I don't understand. JOHN!" he called, drawing it out into a long 'Jaaaaawn'.

Adrienne giggled and tried to hold back a smile. She walked away from Sherlock and called back at him. "See you later, Daddy!"

Paige was already in the car, and rolled the window down to yell, "Bye! Tell Dad number two that we love ya!"

She heard her father call for her other father loudly. When Paige saw Adrienne getting into the car, she was surprised.

"You never wear Daddy's scarf unless you feel like something good is going to happen."

Adrienne bit her lip out of habit and smiled. "You'll see later!"

Paige was suspicious. She knew that Adrienne liked Cullen, although she didn't see why. She walked slowly as Adrienne practically floated into the school.

But then, she suddenly stopped. She just kind of stood there.

Paige walked over. "Are you—"

Adrienne started shaking, and unshed tears collected in her eyes. She turned around quickly, away from the crowd in the school, as the tears rolled down her face as quickly as her eyes welled up again. She was biting her lip so hard that it was starting to bleed.

Paige looked over to see Cullen kissing the school slut, and was overcome with anger. She had never known someone to be so cruel; to lead someone on and then show their true colors. The taller girl started over to Cullen until she felt a shaky hand on her wrist.

Adrienne wouldn't look up at Paige. "It's ok…"

The crack in her voice made Paige's heart break. And while she was always calm on the outside, on the inside she had lost it.

* * *

John, walking downstairs, noticed Paige and Adrienne's shared phone on the coffee table. He freaked out; if Sherlock found out they left him without a way to contact him, the apocalypse would surely occur.

Running out onto the street, he signaled for a cab. On the way to Birmingham, he couldn't help feeling that something was wrong.

When he got there, class hadn't even started yet. (That's how fast he had rushed.) John was about to go to the office, and call one of the girls to come collect their phone, but that turned out to be unnecessary.

They were standing to the side of the hall, Paige hugging Adrienne tightly and looking absolutely murderous.

Something bad was happening. Paige saw him, then murmured something to the girl clinging to her like a vice. Adi looked up, and rushed to John.

Paige watched her go, practically glowing with rage. She called after her dad; "I might get in a little trouble today."

John, distracted, gestured for her to go on. She did, while clenching her fists.

Adrienne rammed into him. He lost his breath at first from the impact, but he quickly regained it.

He felt a wet spot growing on his shirt and hugged the little Asian girl with everything in him. He suddenly understood why Paige was fuming; John felt like a feral animal at that point, a mother grizzly protecting his babies. He was feeling so protective and downright pissed off, it took everything in him to help Adrienne into the car instead of beating up whoever did this.

Little did he know that Paige would take care of that for him.

The car ride home was no better. Adrienne's tears never ceased and he cringed at every little whimper she made. She was trying not to cry, but she just couldn't stop the tears.

When they walked inside the flat, Sherlock was lying on the ground repeating the word 'bored'. When he heard the two enter he sat up. "Why aren't you at school?" He scooted over to the weeping girl.

"Judging by the state of your previously perfect mascara I can tell—Oh." He stopped talking, realizing it would _probably_ be best not to point out anything else.

The girl fell to her knees, and sat there crying. At first the two fathers just stared at each other, then at her. This was their first time dealing with anything like this, and they didn't know what to do. But eventually, it clicked with both of them. John sat on the floor with her, and Sherlock knelt down beside her.

"I'll go make some hot chocolate, that sound good?" John asked softly, and when she nodded, he trudged off feeling awkward.

She let out one last, tiny cry, and then the tears finally subsided.

"Dad….Dad…why are people so stupid?" Adrienne hiccuped.

'God, John. I _told_ you that social interaction was a bad idea,' thought Sherlock.

* * *

Paige was sitting at her desk, staring at Adrienne's empty one. The bell rang, signaling the end of first period, and they all milled out into the hall. Her rage had not subsided; it merely simmered below the surface. Finding Cullen, she walked over to him abruptly.

At first, she wanted to yell and insult him the way that only an angry woman knows how- but then, seeing the smug little smirk on his face, she just thought; 'Sod this.'

She punched Cullen. No one expected the girl to have such a strong arm, but one well-placed blow connected with his nose that Adrienne had once described as "perfect".

Turning away and not looking back, she walked straight to the principal's office just as Mr. Jenkins ran out of it.

"What in the name of- what's going on?!"

Paige walked calmly up to him. He expected that the quiet, polite girl would explain what had happened, who had done what- until he saw a bit of blood on her knuckles.

"I'm sorry to cause you any trouble, Mr. Jenkins." She apologized, perfectly calm now. "I'm afraid that I punched that boy over there, Cullen."

He had to process her words again, at least twice after she said them. _Paige?!_

"You did.._what_?"

She led him into the office, and told the nurse sitting there about the bloodied boy still collapsed in the school hall. She dashed outside, and Mr. Jenkins took the remaining chair.

After explaining, and apologizing multiple times for the mess, the principal said that he had no choice but to call her parents.

"Oh, no need. I'll head home, that's probably best for everyone. I'll make sure they call you later."

He nodded, and started massaging his temples. It was hard to think of a punishment when the girl was so freaking s_weet_ about it.

* * *

Running outside, Paige hopped into a cab. Reaching her new home, the car had barely stopped when she flew out of it, leaving the money on the seat. She jogged to the door, and ran up the stairs to see the little party sitting together in the living room.

She was relieved to see John handing her sister a cup of cocoa. Sherlock was sitting in a quiet rage, plotting something, while John paced angrily.

Paige broke the silence, alerting the others to her presence by closing the door behind her. "Hey. One of you guys has to call the principal today."

Sherlock looked up, confused. "What happened?"

Looking at Adrienne, she asked. "I suppose you told them everything?" When the puffy-eyed girl nodded, Paige flopped onto the unoccupied couch and closed her eyes. "Well, I kinda-sorta punched Cullen."

John's jaw dropped. Then Sherlock's. Then Adrienne's.

Adrienne then burst out laughing, and the girls ran to each other into a giant embrace.

When they parted, all four people were grinning. John looked incredulously at Sherlock, and asked, "Are you sure she's adopted?" After laughing a bit more, he continued. "I was going to set the British Army on the kid, but you win!"

And then, with a pile of manila folders in tow, Mycroft Holmes walked in.


	3. Chapter 3: The Grinch

**Author's Note: Here he comes… the most feared creature in all the nine realms (any Thor fans out there who understood that reference?) …MYCROFT. BUM BUM BAAAA….. *wiggly fingers* **

Chapter Three: The Grinch

Mycroft stared around at the happy, smiling faces gracing the flat. He was so accustomed to seeing just Sherlock and John, usually sitting around in the stuffy armchairs looking morose. But _now_, two extra faces were amongst them.

Not one to forget social graces, he smiled at each of them. (On a normal day, he wouldn't have bothered smiling at his brother- but he wanted to show- whoever they were- that he didn't bite.) "Hello there." Assuming them to be clients, he turned to John and asked, "Is this a bad time, are you in the middle of a case?"

"Er… no, not exactly…" he stuttered. Shooting a furtive glance at Sherlock, he cleared his throat. "Sherlock, you, uh… want to explain?"

Sherlock reached for his violin, but John sighed in exasperation and took it from him.

Mycroft looked at his brother. His dark-haired brother looked back.

Then, Sherlock closed his eyes in surrender and put his hands together in their familiar formation against his lips. "Brother dearest, these are my adoptive daughters. Kindly don't spread this around; it's bad enough that _you_ know."

Mycroft's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Girls, this is Mycroft. My idiotic brother, and technically, your uncle."

"…Uncle?" said Mycroft softly, staring off into space in bewilderment.

"Why didn't you tell us you had a brother?" Adrienne questioned. She stood up and walked over, with Paige following close behind. "I'm Adrienne, nice to meet you!"

The giant of a man stuck out his hand, expecting a handshake, but the little Asian girl pulled him into a hug. Looking down in surprise, he awkwardly patted her back. John and Sherlock were muffling laughs at his aloofness, and he shot them as much of a death glare as his heart- that was feeling strangely warm, what was happening? - would allow.

Paige skipped to him, and looked up at his face before hugging him as well. "And I'm Paige. Geez, you're even taller! Daddy, you have a family of giants!" She bear-hugged him, and Mycroft could hardly breathe. In a good way, however.

A million things were running through his head. He'd never, ever expected to be an uncle, probably even less than John expected to be living with a sociopathic detective. "Uncle, huh?"

"Yup," said John from the corner of the room. "Congrats." He felt like alarming Mycroft a bit, so he added, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go call the principal. A certain someone decided that violence was the answer," he grinned at Paige, and flicked the back of her head as he passed.

"Oh, sure, coming from the soldier!" She teased back, ignoring Mycroft's wary look.

Adrienne didn't, however, and she whispered to him, "Don't worry, she's not a delinquent. She just stood up for me."

"Oh, I see."

In the corner of the flat, Sherlock had perched on his armchair with his laptop balanced precariously on his extended knees. Tapping away, he called out to John who was flipping through the school directory. "John, Lestrade sent us a case. Some buffoon robbed a pet shop and didn't leave a trace of evidence."

"Tell him we're on our way." Then, remembering, he paused. "Wait, what about the girls?" Sherlock would never consent to leaving them home.

"They could come with us…? Sherlock proposed. But Mycroft, overhearing, was adamantly against this. They were just teenage girls, and though he didn't doubt John's competence, his brother was rather immature. Who knows what could happen if they were threatened?

"I could… take them out for the day." Mycroft said, coming to stand behind them.

Sherlock put a long, pale finger in his ear, and twisted it around to make sure he heard correctly. "Who are you, and what have you done with my CIA-secret service-Queen of England brother?" He chuckled. "No."

"Why ever not?" He protested.

"Because I hate you."

"Wow, that's putting it rather bluntly." Murmured Adrienne, and Paige smirked.

"And, since when did family become more important to you than your beloved work?" Sherlock continued in his gravelly baritone, turning his attention back to his laptop.

Putting a hand on Adrienne and Paige's shoulders, he smiled down at them. "Since I found out I had beautiful nieces."

"Oh, stop it, you!" They protested, but he laughed it off.

"Sherlock, I don't see why not. It's not like he'll drive them off a cliff or the like." John argued, and Mycroft looked at him gratefully.

Grumbling, Sherlock replied, "You never know."

"Oh, hush. You three have fun. We'll text you when we're home again."

They cheered, and their tall, paper thin uncle looked pleased at their enthusiasm. "High five, Uncle M!"

He did so. Adrienne had to stand on tiptoe, and John couldn't help but let out an "awwwww" from across the room.

"We won't be long! Bye, guys!" Paige called, as they trotted across the threshold and out of 221B. The door clicked shut, and Sherlock looked up to stare at it.

"What's gotten into that…" He struggled to find a word that described his brother. "…_asparagus_… that's made him all friendly?"

John looked up quizzically at his word choice, but smiled and answered with a quote, "They say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day."

"…I don't understand what you're saying. What on earth is a '_Grinch_'?"

"Dear God, your childhood was awful."

* * *

Walking out onto the street, Mycroft led them to a black, impossibly shiny vehicle. Opening the door for them and gesturing inside like an obedient chauffer, they climbed in and he followed. Adrienne sat near the left window, Mycroft on the right, and Paige in the middle. He could have sat shotgun, but wanted to sit with these curiosities.

Noticing his disgruntled expression, Paige poked him. "What's going on in your noggin?"

"Oh, nothing to worry about. I was just wondering how this came to happen. Not that it's not a change for the better, I mean, I'm glad for you all," rambled the normally smooth-talking diplomat. "But it doesn't seem like something my brother would do."

"Well, you know him better than we do. He's a great dad, though. So is John, and I bet you'll be a marvelous uncle!" Paige hugged his arm, and said uncle smiled.

Looking at Adrienne, he questioned, "Cat got your tongue?"

"No, just...Sitting." She said softly. Adrienne was always shy around adults and people she'd just met, so Paige leaned over to Mycroft and whispered, "Tickle her."

He looked skeptical at first- would the small girl pull out a rape whistle? But at Paige's wink, he did.

Adrienne jumped, and squealed like a Chihuahua that'd just been trodden upon. Paige leaned over and joined in, and soon they had the girl laughing so hard she was crying, and pleading for mercy.

"You're- all- a- bunch- of- BUTTS!" Adrienne yelped between feeble smacks to her uncle's shoulder. Mycroft chuckled at her, and sat back against the seat. Paige looked extremely pleased with herself, and Adrienne fumed- but at least she wasn't uptight anymore.

After deciding on a mall trip, Mycroft directed his driver to the largest one in the area. The small party arrived in front of the mall and got out, Mycroft giving the silent man behind the wheel some instructions. Adi and Paige pranced forward, while Mycroft strode like an accomplished businessman.

Adrienne exacted her revenge upon Paige quickly by stealing her shoe, and was chased in circles around the parking lot by a sister determined to retrieve her boot. Mycroft watched, at a loss to explain their actions. What went on their little heads? He didn't expect he'd ever know.

Making their way inside with flushed faces, the girls headed to the map put up near the entrance. As orphans, they hadn't had many chances to go to a mall. No, let me rephrase that- any chances. So, every bright, alluring store was a mystery to them.

Today, they were explorers, and every floor tile was uncharted territory. Hot Topic (by which Mycroft was just a bit scared), Claire's (which almost gagged him with its sparkly cheer), and Forever 21 were just a few of the girl's destinations. They'd put both spikey dog collars and Elton John glasses on him in the span of half an hour. While Mycroft smiled good-naturedly when they dragged him into store after store, sometimes holding his hand, he was genuinely enjoying himself. They were sweet girls, and he'd grown to love them very quickly.

"You look really out of place in that suit, Uncle M…" Adrienne pointed out, and conspired with Paige for a second. "Onward, good knight! We strive to re-clothe you!"

"Er, no, that's really not necessary…" But he followed them anyway, resigned to his fate.

About thirty minutes later, a new man came out of Nordstrom. In a black polo and dark jeans, it wasn't too much of a stretch from his normal attire- but different enough for Mycroft to feel odd. He had to admit, they had made some good choices. Girls and their silly fashion.

* * *

Back at the flat, Sherlock was being educated.

Their case had been solved; the thief's day job was driving a moving van, which wasn't hard to find. It was, as Sherlock had surmised, filled with the animals. John suspected that he was somewhat afraid of snakes, as he walked away rather quickly when one slithered over to him.

So, John had found his old copy of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas", pulled out the rarely used DVD player, and insisted that his flat mate watch it. Sherlock would have much rather grumped about the lack of his daughters at the flat, but did as John instructed.

John blogged in the other room, occasionally hearing shouts of disapproval.

"Roses are red! Violets are blueish! If the Grinch followed through, the Who's would be Jewish!"

"Sherlock, pipe down in there!"

He did, for a few minutes. There was complete silence during the song describing the Grinch, and a low giggle. But after that came a call of, "…Who was on drugs when they wrote this silly story?"

"It's a children's Christmas movie. Have a little perspective, huh?" John mentioned, half amused.

"But still… All this sentiment…" He grumbled. When the movie was over, Sherlock was inexplicably furious. "THAT was the most pointless thing I've ever seen in my life! He is the worst criminal imaginable, doing all that and then GIVING UP?! Worthless!" Harrumphing, he sank down into his chair and clicked the TV off.

"Sorry it wasn't to your liking, Your Highness."

"I would have liked it better if you'd watched it with me." Sherlock said in a low voice, and then caught himself. His eyes widened, not believing what had just come from his mouth, as did John's in the next room. Sherlock pretended to have said nothing. John pretended to have heard nothing.

* * *

When Mycroft and the long-awaited girls walked into the flat later that evening, after a few timid stars had poked their way into existence, Sherlock was perched on his chair again. He had a Winnie the Pooh blanket pulled around him, and looked like a shaman about to utter a life-altering prophecy.

He looked right at Mycroft, and opened his mouth- "You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch." He sang.

Adrienne and Paige stared at him in wonder. Their supposedly –serious father, _singing_ to his older brother?! No one was in more awe than the good Doctor Watson, though.

"You're a crooked jerky jockey, and you drive a crooked hoss, Mr. Gri-INCH!" Then, narrating, "Your soul is an appalling dump-heap, overflowing with the most _disgraceful_ assortment of rubbish imaginable- mangled up, in tangled up knoooooots."

And with that long note as his grand finale, he swept his Pooh blanket around his face like Dracula with his cape, and said no more.

**Oh ho ho. Be a good little spider and review for us, please! Moriarty voice: Thank you! Bless you!**

**Every story follow/favorite means the world to us. KISSES, AU REVOIR! **


	4. Chapter 4: Plotting and Impatience

**Author's Note: Wow, we totally weren't expecting this response! Thank you to all readers, followers, reviewers (I'll respond to those at the end) and favorite-ers, you guys are awesome. And now… The long-awaited Moriarty and company. **

Chapter Four: Plotting and Impatience

The man watched the comings and goings of the mall through black and white fuzzy screens. He didn't seem to be part of the mall security; he was wearing a suit, expensively tailored, and didn't have a hair out of place. The expression on his face told anyone happening to see him that this was a man of consequence, a man with a purpose.

He spun around in the office chair, not paying too much attention to the screens. He had ear buds in, with a wire connected to a phone of some sort that he seemed completely immersed in. But then, a figure on the cheap, static screen caught his attention.

A tall man, who looked as proper and dignified as his unknown observer, was walking through the mall. He had a brown suit, with chestnut-reddish hair combed over in a style that suggested he didn't get out much. There was no mistaking it- Mycroft Holmes. The corner of the man's lips went up into a devilish grin.

But there were two faces he didn't recognize, two girls leading him through the mall like a dog on a leash. Strange; Mycroft didn't seem the type to be easily controlled, let alone by two teenage girls. One girl was pretty short, only making it up to Mycroft's chest, whilst the other was up to his nose.

The shadowed man continued to spin around, watching at intervals, until the man and his companions left. Standing up, he left and texted away.

* * *

Lying on the couch, in a very bad mood, was a pale teenage girl with black curly hair. She had a laptop perched on her stomach, Tumbling away like she normally did while waiting for her dad.

'Of course he's late,' she thought spitefully to herself. 'He's probably off on some murder with his boyfriend.' He never allowed Andrea to come along.

Just then, the door opened, and the mall stalker skipped in with a plate covered in tin foil. "Ello, dear! I brought lasagna," he called in a high pitched voice.

Andrea didn't answer. She moodily tapped away at her computer until he walked in.

"Sweetheart, did you hear me?" He said, in a normal voice now.

She didn't reply, except to glare at him. Tentatively, he asked what was wrong.

"You are what's wrong. Every day, whether I have school or not, you leave me here and go commit crimes. I'm sick of it. Of being left behind like a toddler. I'M BORED TOO, DADDY!"

The older man pushed out his bottom lip and mock pouted. "Daddy's sorry. I'll bring you with me next time, ok?"

Andrea smiled a little. "Awwww yes. Score for the Moriarty duo." Even though she feigned excitement, she knew this was just another lie.

Moriarty walked into the kitchen and started heating up his beloved lasagna. "I actually have something for you, one to do on your own."

"Oh, let me guess," she rolled her dark brown eyes. "To discover how many square inches of wall space in the room? Anything to keep me home."

"That does sound promising, but I already counted. 876,145,200. I actually need you to do some sniffing around at your school. I was checking up on Mycroft this morning- prep for my big kahuna crime - and he had two kids with him. I need you to find out who they were, exactly. I'd do it myself, but I have a willing daughter just itching for some mischief..."

She jumped on the chance. "I might know them. What do they look like?"

"One has long, light brown hair and the other has short, dark brown. Smaller girl looked Asian."

"Oh, I know them. The tall one, Paige, caused quite a commotion at school last Wednesday. Little one is Adrienne." She immersed herself in her computer again until he called her back from her reveries.

"What happened?"

"Hmmm? Oh, she punched some kid in the face. They're usually wallflowers, though. I don't keep with all the rabble's stupidity. What do you need me to find out?"

He locked his lips, musing. "Who do they belong to?"

"'Belong to'? What, are kids property?"

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"I-D-K. If I find out, you'll be the first to know.

Moriarty ruffled her already-disheveled hair, and walked off. "Good minion."

The microwave let out a distant *ding*. "Now, who wants cheesy goodness?"

* * *

Walking into school, Andrea kept a look-out for the girls she was supposed to investigate. People looked up as she passed, but none talked to her. Andrea wasn't a 'wallflower' as she had described Adrienne and Paige; she wasn't engaged in conversation by the many passerby simply because they were in awe of her.

Andrea walked into the office, working her two inch heels.

"Erm, excuse me, but there seems to have been another fight. Might want to check that out."

"Oh, my heavens, was it that new girl again?!" The jittery nurse sprang from her seat at the computer, and dashed out.

Andrea quickly took her place at the computer, and started working.

_Adrienne - SEARCH._

_Adrienne Benson_

_Adrienne Cross_

_Adrienne Frantz_

_Adrienne Holmes_

_Not what you were looking for?_

...Holmes, huh? That looked promising.

Finishing up her search and printing out any and all information she found about Adrienne, and then Paige, she inserted a cable into the computer. Whipping out her phone, an expensive present from her father, Andrea downloaded every word onto it. Daddy would be pleased, she thought smugly. She walked out of the office, just as a very confused nurse, who'd found nothing amiss, walked in.

A sweet smile crossed Andrea's face before the teenage criminal turned her back and strutted off.

* * *

"Shoot that one! Right in the head. No, in the ear!" Jim was practically dancing with excitement, giggling at each perfect shot Sebastian made.

They were at a train station, perched up high in the rafters. Every time an innocent person turned a corner, away from the prying eyes of the crowd, Sebby was tasked with fatally shooting them. So far, the count was at 108. Nope, 109. Just another blood spatter added to the infinite puddle.

Sebastian didn't know why he was doing this, nor would he ever know in all probability. Moriarty had some kind of plan, even if he didn't know it- Sebastian just wished that his boyfriend would confide in him, at least periodically.

After a few more killings, he looked over at his lover and employer. Jim looked bored, and just a little mopey. He had frequent, inexplicable mood swings; but, the sniper had learned to read them. "Want to go home?"

Nodding like a toddler who'd run out of tears, Moriarty clasped his arms around Sebastian's long neck. Shouldering his gun, the tall, dark-clothed man picked him up with ease and climbed up an unused wooden ladder leading to the sunny street above.

'The things I do for him,' Sebastian thought, as their helicopter landed. Treading up the metal stairs with his psychopath still in tow, they flew off into the blue.

* * *

"-officers are still trying to discover the total count of fatalities, but it is nearing a hundred. Who could have committed these gruesome murders? After the break, we-"

Andrea clicked the TV off. That had her father's hands all over them. Sliding into the kitchen on purple, frog patterned socks, she set to the task of making ramen noodles.

She'd been home for a couple hours, and was still excited about her new found information. The girls she'd been set to research were the daughters of _Sherlock freaking Holmes_! Probably adoptive, seeing as one was Asian and the other as white as can be. Seemed like Sherlock was 'still the virgin', as Moriarty once described.

As she fantasized about her father actually taking her to commit some crimes with him, the door slammed. She darted out into the hall.

"Dad, I-" she exclaimed, but then stopped short seeing that her father wasn't awake. Sebastian carried her father into their bedroom, and didn't even acknowledge her.

Returning, after dropping off his load, Sebastian walked into the warmth of the living room and plopped down on the leather couch. (How appropriate, for a villainous family.) He tossed his sniper gear onto the other couch, and put his combat booted feet up on the coffee table as Andrea retreated back to her ramen. Seb was absolutely exhausted.

"Sebby?" called Andrea, almost timidly. But the Moriarty's were not timid.

"Mmmmmmm?"

"Er… What'cha doing?"

He massaged his temples. "Trying to get rid of my pounding headache. Which a certain girl isn't helping with."

Well, that was rather unfriendly. "Sorry about that. Is dad ok?"

"Fine. Just tired. I wouldn't bother him for an hour or two." He drawled in his deep monotone voice.

"Oh, ok…" The awkwardness in the room was almost touchable.

"Do me a favor and put my stuff away," The blonde said, nudging it with his foot. "You know where it goes."

She shuffled away with it, stacking it haphazardly. Andrea was impatient. Her dad had given her a job to do, and it seemed like he didn't even care. Was hanging out with his sniper boyfriend more important than his daughter? Or napping, what any self-respecting middle aged criminal psychopath shouldn't be doing? Summoning up her resolve, she tried to sneak to his room.

The girl should have known better than to sneak past a trained assassin, however. Watching the floor, and her padded feet, she paced silently down the hallway- before she bumped into Sebastian. She looked up, trying to look innocent.

"What are you doing," He said.

"Oh, uh… Nothing!" There was only one room down the hall she was headed though, and his eyes darkened dangerously. Sebastian was scary when he was even slightly ticked off.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "I thought I told you to leave him alone."

"Well, you see, he told me this morning to-"

"Andrea, please! I'm too tired to deal with you right now, we both are! Just- go away!" He wasn't usually this curt, but his awful migraine was making it difficult to parent. He regretted it as soon as it passed his lips.

Her shoulders sagged, but she looked up at him, not showing any weakness or hurt feelings. Andrea walked away, slipping on her boots at the door. "Fine. I'll just let you have some peace and quiet then," She said, calmly but sharply, "without irritating little _me_."

The door slammed behind her, but not before she muttered, "Bitch." She made sure that he heard.

Seb closed his eyes and sighed loudly in aggravation. She always turned him into the bad guy.

Outside their temporary little abode, Andrea pulled her phone out of her pocket. Clicking one of her apps that she'd made herself, it turned every TV or noise-making device in the house on full blast. Not two seconds later, she heard a deep voice commence in a long stream of colorful swearing.

**Hope you enjoyed! And now, review responses.**

**Dark Magical Sorcres: I hope Moriarty's daughter was to your liking! Her sassiness will show up more in later chapters. **

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**Speaking of updates, we have two options. Monday through Friday, we don't have much time to write. So, we write on the weekends. Would you guys rather have a clump of chapters over the weekends, or posted regularly throughout the week? **

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	5. Chapter 5: Family Feud

**Author's Note: As always, enjoy. **

**Chapter 5: Family Feud**

'Go away?' Fine, she'd go away, thought Andrea angrily. She stomped down the road, underneath a dreary sky filled with rain clouds.

She knew her fury was rather childish, and for no reason at all- but sometimes, she hated Sebastian. Sure, he was awesome at the shooting ranges, but why _him_? He had no personality whatsoever.

Well, on second thought, they kind of balanced each other out. Jim had two split, very different personalities; maybe Sebby soaked up one of them and made things equal.

She sighed. Dad had no time for her anymore, ever since he met that Sherlock Holmes... Consulting detective and family ruiner extraordinaire.

It started to rain, but she really didn't give a crap at the moment. She remembered a slow-mo video she'd once seen, of a raindrop hitting the ground and making a minuscule explosion.

Her inner fury cooling down, Andrea spotted a petite silhouette walking along the opposite sidewalk towards her. They had an umbrella- silly, reasonable person. The person, now close enough to be recognized as a girl, saw Andrea and half jogged across the empty road.

"Hey," the girl greeted Andrea. She was a pretty girl, Asian, more likely Filipino. "Need an umbrella?"

Andrea started. Not only was someone talking to her, being kind to her- but it was one of the very same girls she was meant to stalk. Adrienne Holmes.

"Uh, it doesn't matter. Too late anyhow, huh?" She smiled at the girl offering the umbrella. "But I guess it couldn't hurt." Her head raced with all the questions she wanted to ask, to get more information to take to her father. To impress them both, Moriarty and Sebastian, and in turn, stick it to the snobby sniper a bit. "Thanks."

They walked down the road, side by side. "I'm Andrea," the dripping wet girl offered. "What's your name?" Of course, she already knew her companion's name. And her address...and her telephone number...

The shy one smiled. "Adrienne. We go to the same school, but you probably never see me. I'm pretty quiet."

"Oh, I have seen you, though! We have Civics and English together."

"That's right, I forgot! Whoopsies."

They walked in awkward silence for a few moments before Andrea shook her mop of wet hair around. "Gah, when this dries, I'm going to look like a Pomeranian."

Laughing, Adrienne shielded herself from the shower of water flying off her acquaintance's flailing head. "Why don't you go home and rectify the situation? Not that I don't enjoy your company, of course..."

A shadow crossed Andrea's face, and she completely forgot the act she was supposed to be putting on. "I really don't want to go home."

Seeing her haunted expression, Adrienne decided not to push it if the girl didn't want to talk about it. But, in case she did, she offered timidly, "Something wrong at home?"

Eyes looking up with honest sadness, Andrea spilled everything. How her father had no time for her anymore, how his boyfriend was a complete loser, how she felt all alone.

At the end of the tale, Adrienne was almost crying out of pure pity. Andrea absolutely hated that, and was about to snap at her new found counselor.

Until, in a split decision, Adrienne said, "Well, since going home isn't the best option, you can come to my house! Forget your troubles, at least for a while."

Eyes widening a tiny, unnoticeable bit, Andrea was touched. No one had ever done anything like this for her before.

So, with a lightened heart, they walked back to 221B, the previously snooping Andrea pretending that she didn't know the way.

* * *

Walking into the flat, they stopped in the living room doorway where John was sitting. The newspaper reading man didn't seem to notice the two figures sprawled face down on the floor, Paige's messy hair in tendrils everywhere and laying perpendicular to the black stain that was Sherlock.

"Er, hey guys!" Called out Adrienne.

Paige and John lifted their heads- no response from Sherlock yet- and saw a new face in the door.

"Hullo," John stated, pulling off his reading glasses. Smiling a friendly smile, he asked, "Who's this?"

"Andrea M-" Andrea stopped short, supposing that it wasn't best to say the name "Moriarty" in the presence of mortal enemies. "Brooks. At your service."

"Is it ok if she stays here a while? Her folks are.." Adrienne looked at Andrea to complete the sentence, not sure what to say next.

"Being difficult," the visitor finished. "Not very pleasant people to be around today."

Adrienne made puppy eyes at the father _not_ playing possum on the carpet. "Is it ok if she stays over?"

"Sure, sure!" John assured. "Make yourself at home, stay as long as you'd like."

'Wow, that was nice of him,' Andrea thought. She smiled gratefully at him, and plopped down on the couch with Adrienne following.

Nudging her sister with her foot, Adi asked, "What are you doing, Paige?"

"I'm doing an impression of Daddy," she drawled into the floorboards. Crawling to Andrea's feet, she grabbed onto her ankles causing the girl- whose hair was starting to poof up, as its owner had foretold- to jump. "Mehhhhh... Beached whaaale..."

Sherlock looked up at the tall girl army crawling across the floor and mocking him. He couldn't help but prove Paige's point with his next words, or, more accurately, low wails. "Jaaa-hawww-hawwnn..."

"No."

"My patches... NEED THEM..." His outstretched hands made skittering motions on the hardwood.

"Nope."

"Where. Are. Theeeey." He whined, to no avail.

Still focused on his newspaper, John said nonchalantly, "The last place you'd ever search."

The onlookers watched, at a loss as Sherlock's powers of deduction kicked in. "Last place I'd ever look. I'd never look a lot of places... Into a trombone, across the Pacific Ocean, down Mrs. Hudson's shirt-"

John shuddered without realizing it.

"-at Mycroft's cake because I'd probably get a fork in the eye... That's IT!" He shouted, springing to his feet like a filmed slinky on rewind.

"What?" Andrea asked.

"MUFFINS!"

John slapped a palm across his face. "Knew I shouldn't have said anything..."

Sherlock dashed to the kitchen, practically tearing apart the breakfast cabinets. "Because I- never- eat breakfast!" He said, triumphantly. Pulling his beloved nicotine patches out of a strawberry pop tart box, he was about to slap one on- (or two... or five...) before he picked up a muffin sitting on the counter from that morning and considered it.

This would be interesting.

It had gone sinisterly quiet in the kitchen, and everyone noticed the silence altogether in one of those awkward moments.

Then, half a pale face slid around the doorframe of the kitchen. Sherlock wound up like a professional baseball player, and beamed the muffin straight at John's forehead. It hit its mark perfectly, and John looked up at him.

"Ohhhh, no." Paige whispered.

"Oh, HELL, no!" John echoed, and picked up an ignored loaf of bread that the ever-helpful Mrs. Hudson had brought up to him an hour ago. With his perfect accuracy, the bun hit Sherlock in the face, making a little *poof* sound.

An epic stare-down ensued, and Sherlock whispered to Adrienne; "Get me some more ammunition."

She ran to the kitchen, right for the pastry cabinet. She didn't want her fathers being hurt in the hilarious scuffle sure to happen.

Paige, taking John's side, beckoned to Andrea. The two followed shortly after Adrienne, grabbing all they could find and making a pile of it at John's feet. So much for its edibility.

A full out pastry war commenced, stray food flying everywhere.

"Ahhh! Stop it!" Adrienne shrieked, as a bread loaf hit her in the head.

Andrea roared, "I will avenge you, brethren! ...I mean...sisterin!" And aimed an english muffin carefully.

"That's not even a wor-" Sherlock started to say, but in his distraction, he was rewarded with a baguette to the face for his efforts. "JOHN!"

Laughing and darting away, John made for the jar of penguin shaped cookies, but the floored Sherlock grabbed onto his ankle like a sick man would grab his bucket. John fell on his side, and Sherlock rolled over and sat on him. "EAT THEM!" He yelled in his deep voice. He shoved cookie after cookie into the doctor's mouth as said doctor sputtered and tossed his head about, trying and failing to rid himself of the detective.

Paige, Adi and Andrea were practically dying with laughter in the corner, and between gasps of air, Adrienne shouted "Gaaaaaay!" In the lowest, most dramatic voice she could manage.

"Oh crap." Paige, still twitching from the after effects of her laughing seizure, started scooting away. "Now you've done it!"

Both pairs of eyes from their fathers turned to them slowly, looking rather dangerous.

"Shall we show them how gay we really are, Sherry?" Asked John, giving him a purposely seductive look.

"Fabulous." Letting John rise to his feet, Sherlock took the jar of cookies. "This. Is. WAR."

Try as they might, the girl team couldn't fend off the pastry attack of a soldier and a crime fighting detective.

"We will never surrender!" Paige shouted, swinging her baguette with wild abandon.

* * *

From downstairs, Mycroft heard muffled yells and thuds. What on earth?

Darting upstairs, he heard Paige scream "We will never surrender!" And burst in the door, expecting to see them all tied up in chairs and held at gunpoint.

Instead, he was hit by a stray scone.

The part-time queen of England stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and open mouthed at the scene before him. Jam dripped from the walls, there were bread products on every surface imaginable, and the residing family was fighting for all they had- with desserts.

"Help, uncle Mycroft!" Shrieked Adrienne. "We're dying!"

Not sure what to make of it, he shrugged- and then a wild battle roar flew from his thin lips. John and Sherlock jumped about 20 feet up in the air, not knowing that Mycroft, of all people, could make such a sound.

"I will protect you!" Their battle-waging uncle said, and began throwing every pastry he could find on the floor at his brother and John.

Amidst the battling, nobody noticed the pair of happy brown eyes belonging to Andrea. Surrounded by overjoyed giggles, this was the most fun she'd had in, well, forever. Even the "ice man", as her dad had nicknamed him, was amazing.

She'd just beamed another bun at Sherlock, when a pling from her phone caught her attention. Her phone's screen read,

_New Message From: Dad_

_Where R yu? I'm lonezly_

_~JM_

Scoffing, she tossed the phone onto the couch and away from her. 'Is he, now? Welcome to my freaking world, daddy dearest.' She didn't look back at it as it plinged again, and again, but eventually fell silent.

"So, can I ask," Mycroft asked between gasps for air. They had all collapsed on the floor again, showing no sign of getting up. "What on earth started this impropriety?"

Wheezing, Sherlock answered his brother, "John... Is... A _doofus_..."

Chuckling, Mycroft tousled his not-so-little brother's curly hair. To John's surprise, Sherlock didn't protest.

'Well, as it seems,' thought the petered-out doctor, 'Good can come from a dessert war...'

He wasn't at all wrong. Everyone had forgotten any negative feelings they'd harbored beforehand; Andrea's family was off her mind. Mycroft and Sherlock enjoyed their temporary, brotherly truce. And Sherlock, lo and behold, had forgotten all about using his nicotine patches.

* * *

Andrea had ended up spending the night.

"Are you sure about this? I really don't want to be an inconvenience-" she started to apologize, when the sun started going down behind the horizon. She'd started putting on her army green jacket, but Adrienne had been so depressed that John insisted she stay.

He cut off the apology that was coming. "Everything's fine. You shoved a pie in Sherlock's face, you're forever in my good books," He finished, looking to the corner at a pouting detective.

Sherlock's spidey-sense was tingling. He knew something was up with this girl; she looked strangely familiar. Brown eyes, pale, who could be mature and childish at the same time… It screamed of his archenemy, Jim Moriarty. He hadn't heard from the consulting criminal in about a year and a half, since the Reichenbach painting. But, if she really was a spy or the like from Moriarty, he needed to get rid of her quickly. She'd probably already catalogued the flat and its inhabitants in her sure-to-be psychotic mind.

"Aren't you going to get that?" Sherlock questioned after what had to have been the fiftieth *plink* from her phone that evening.

"Oh, yeah, I kept forgetting about it." Andrea stated, picking up her phone. She had no intention of answering her dad, but she sifted through the many incoming messages with her thumbs.

_5:07- Were are you?_

_5:08- Are you ded?_

_5:09- Don't be ded Andrea_

_6:03- R U ignoring me_

_6:09- Or have yu ben captured by the enemy_

_7:00- Come hooome_

_8:00- Pleazee_

Andrea sighed, shielding her phone screen as Paige passed behind her armchair with her nightly cup of coffee. Dad really seemed to want her home… she typed in a response, finally.

_To: Dad_

_I'm spending the night at a friend's. Don't freak out. See you in the morning._

_~AM_

Little did the girl know that Sherlock had put his text-intercepting devices to work. It was particularly useful in detecting the various phone numbers in a room; he used it often to annoy Lestrade's press conferences.

The text Andrea had just sent popped up on Sherlock's laptop screen; his eyes narrowed through the cream still coating his face like a sugary mask. The signature was AM. Not AB, for Andrea Brooks; but Andrea M. Moriarty, it was highly likely. The incoming texts to the number had also shown up, the signature of which was JM. This was no coincidence of initials- Jim Moriarty was back. The content of the messages showed a parental quality to them, alerting him to the fact that the most feared, yet respected criminal in the world had a teenage daughter. And _family troubles_.

Sherlock didn't know what to think. He could tell in a heartbeat when someone had ulterior motives, and Andrea had none- though she looked uncomfortable when left alone to think. He let her stay, though. It would be a good chance to find out more about Jim.

"So," Sherlock asked, "What do your parents do?" He folded his hands together and looked innocent. Adrienne was in the other room, and Paige was dead to the world on the couch after chugging her coffee, so neither was there to chastise him for his interrogation.

Andrea wasn't a fool; dad had told her what to say if something like this ever came up. "Parent." She corrected. If Pirates of the Caribbean and Captain Jack Sparrow had taught her anything, it was always best to slip a bit of truth into lies. "Singular. He's an actor, so he's almost never at home." She explained.

"Is that so? Sorry to hear it. What's his name? I have a great love for theater." Sherlock lied.

John could tell that Sherlock wasn't telling the truth at all. Sherlock hated the theater; what was he trying to get out of the darling little Andrea?

"Richard. Richard Brook. He's been on a bunch of BBC1 roles, and you might have seen him reading books on the children's station too."

Sherlock internally scoffed. Richard Brooks, an actor? What a perfect alibi. He decided to take a chance. "I see. So, who's this… JM?" He scrolled nonchalantly through his computer, shooting her a sidelong glance. "It couldn't be a certain, say, Jim Moriarty fellow, could it?

She jumped to her feet, staring at him. "Are you reading my texts?!"

John interrupted, "Well, I think it's time to call it a day!" He said awkwardly, shepherding Andrea away while Sherlock gave her the stink-eye. "I'll show you to your room, you must be tired."

Andrea's eyes, still full of accusations and disbelief, never left Sherlock's until she left the vicinity.

Despite the skirmish at 221B, Paige, Adrienne and Andrea quickly became the best of friends. The duo whom often sat out on the steps during lunch became a trio, and they spent a lot of time together.

Every day afterwards, the Moriarty girl would report any info she'd discovered back to her father. But as the friends became closer, she felt worse and worse about it- until one day, when Jim asked, "What did you get from 'em today?" She had merely shrugged and fibbed. "Nothing.'

**Ohohoho. And the plot thickens. Thanks for reading, and reviews are always welcome, m'darlings. **


	6. Chapter 6: Adventures of the Heart

**Author's Note: Sorry there was a delay on this chapter. The angsty ones are coming up, which require more planning, fits of tears and hiding in closets.**

**WARNING: FLUFF AHEAD! Enjoy.**

**Chapter 6: Adventures of the Heart**

Sherlock sat at his laptop, thinking. The gears in his mind were turning like crazy, even though it was close to 2:30 at night and all was still. He desperately wanted to pull out his violin, but everyone else in the flat was asleep.

Or, so he thought. John had drunk too much coffee before going to bed, so he'd been waking up periodically throughout the night. After noting that the lights downstairs were still on every time his eyes flicked open, he'd reluctantly rose from his bed whilst feeling like gravity was trying to push him back down onto the mattress. John ambled downstairs, his scarred hand covering half of his face in fatigue. He was used to the detective staying up until all hours of the night, but only when he was on a case. There was no case at the moment, though.

"Sherlock?" He questioned, turning the corner to the living room. "What are you still doing up?"

"Thinking." He sat there, not looking at John and staring straight at the skull on the mantelpiece.

"About what? It's almost 3 in the morning!" He settled into his armchair.

Sherlock knew that if he shared the information he was agonizing over to John, the relationship between them would change forever. John might leave 221B. Of course, there was always the chance he would stay; but Sherlock, with all his powers of deduction could not predict the result.

Sherlock Holmes was, in plain terms, gay. Most people, like Lestrade and Molly, suspected this- but decided to go with "straight until proven gay." Mycroft had known for a while- you don't grow up with someone without learning a few things- but he was kind enough to never mention or talk about it at all. But, through deep observations, the nicknamed Queen of England knew about Sherlock's feelings towards John.

John, of course, remained perfectly oblivious. He still remembered that statement from Sherlock, though, regarding girlfriends; "That's not really my area." John had put it out of his mind, though. And, people see what they expect to. So the young retiree hadn't noticed the particularly long gazes directed at him from a certain scarf-adorned companion.

Trouble was coming, and the Holmes brothers knew it. With the hints of Moriarty's return, Sherlock wasn't willing to risk anything. He remembered all too well the scene from a year past, including a Semtex vest strapped to John, and wasn't keen on a repeat. Sherlock wasn't afraid of pain, or even death. He was afraid for John. He loved him, more than anyone. No- he was /in/ love with him.

John snapped Sherlock out of his reveries by tapping his fingernails on the table. "Sherl? You still here?"

"Mm, yes, fine, wonderful. Brilliant." He replied, in a run-on sentence.

"Right. Well, tell me or not, I'm going back to bed. Good night." He turned his back, but not before Sherlock looked up at him.

"John, don't get the wrong idea, but I think better when you're around."

John was a bit confused. "Oh, do you want me to stay downstairs with you?"

"No. You need your sleep. But would it be alright if I stayed in your room?"

John felt a blush start to warm his cheeks, and he internally screamed at his revolting brain to stop that nonsense. There was nothing between them, what was he feeling all...funky for?

"Er, why not?" He stuttered. He didn't know that Sherlock was feeling just as awkward. John started upstairs, and thought.

It wasn't exactly commonly accepted in the military force to be gay. John never even entertained the thought of a relationship with another man, and had had girlfriend after girlfriend, never finding what he wanted and never being what they needed. Until Sherlock came along. He never saw any other man the same way, though, so he wasn't exactly bisexual. Perhaps he was...Sherlock-sexual?

He shook his head violently as if the thoughts would fall out of his ear if he scrambled them around enough. Crawling into bed, though, they returned. John remembered Sherlock's words from the past.

_"I consider myself married to my work."_

It had been a year, after all. Maybe Sherlock had rethought something or other...?

With those thoughts, the caffeine finally wore off. His eyelids fell shut, and didn't open to see Sherlock creep into his room and close the door behind him. He knew John couldn't sleep unless he was in total darkness. Sliding into the other side of the queen-sized bed, he faced John's back, who was sleeping in a fetal position of sorts. 'What on earth will become of this?' Sherlock thought.

He settled down, and just closed his electric blue-gray eyes when he heard a mumble from John. His eyes opened, and he listened intently to see if he'd heard right- which he had. John mumbled again, though sleepy lips- "Sher…lerk."

Sherlock blinked a few times, but then smiled and leaned over to him hesitantly. He kissed Watson on the forehead, and whispered back to his assistant's momentarily deadened ears. "John."

* * *

The next morning, Paige woke up early. She'd participated in the flood of coffee consumption, and had stayed up nearly all night with her sketchbook as company. At around 5 in the morning, her burning desire for toast had awakened. Looking over at Adrienne, with whom she shared a room in adjacent beds, she saw that the girl was still asleep and looked angelically innocent.

The sketchbook was tossed aside, where the unlatched cover made a flopping noise as it hit the stack of bound paper. Opening the door quietly, as she didn't want to wake anyone, she slipped on her teddy bear slippers and walked out.

There was a hall connecting her and Adrienne's shared room to the living room, which was connected to the kitchen. If you walked out the door leading from the living room, another door to the immediate right led to John's room upstairs. And, if one continued straight on down the stairs and around the bend, they'd find Mrs. Hudson's residence. It was a small flat, a bit cluttered, but altogether very comfortable and cozy.

She continued into the kitchen, not noticing anything amiss when she passed the living room. Then, stopping, Paige backtracked and did a double take. The living room, or more specifically, the couch- was empty.

Shortly after, Adrienne woke up. Her eyes, squinted, looked around at the empty room. Resisting the urge to fall asleep again, she got up and followed Paige's path outside. SpongeBob pajama pants swished as she walked, until she saw Paige's white leopard print ones siting on John's armchair.

"Morning." Adi grumbled.

"Good morning, dearest Adrienne." Said Paige, sipping even more coffee and staring at the couch.

Adrienne noticed. "What are you looking at?"

"The couch. It seems to be lacking a certain father." Before any realization could set into the smaller girl's half-asleep mind, Paige continued.

"If so... Then where is he sleeping?"

John awoke when beams of sunlight escaped though the corners of the blinds. Rubbing his eyes, he looked over at his unexpected companion.

Sherlock's long form was sprawled out, all over the place. One leg was stretched out, the other was bent and one arm had made its way on top of the headboard. Smiling softly at Sherlock's sleepy abandon, he trudged downstairs and turned the corner to see his daughters watching the telly.

He grumbled a low "G'morning," and continued to the kitchen before Adrienne met him halfway with another mug of coffee. The dark, sugarless liquid sloshed around in John's special mug as he took it gratefully. "How'd you know?"

Adrienne just gave a knowing glance to her sister, and saw a suggestive face being made back at her. Unluckily, John saw their wordless exchange. "What are you..." He started, and then recognized their mischievous expressions. "Oh."

The girls started giggling uncontrollably as John face-palmed and mumbled though his fingers, "Shit."

Just then, the commercial break ended and a perky news reporter's voice came from the television. "Get your rainbow flags out, folks of London; because today, at a vote of 400 to 175, gay marriage was legalized!"

The girls stared in amazed wonder at the screen, at the convenience this added to their taunting.

"Dad! You and Daddy are FREE NOW!" Paige said to John, who steadfastly ignored them and glared into his coffee.

All he repeatedly thought was, "Why me. _WHY_."

* * *

Moriarty's eyes lit up, his inner child squealing with delight. "Let's gooooo, Sebby!"

"Glad to see you've perked up. You've been plotting too much, anyway. Let me go ask Andrea, and we'll buy the tickets."

Trodding softly into Andrea's room on his blue polka-dotted socks she'd bought recently for him, he knocked twice on the open door. "Permission to enter?"

She pulled out an earphone and nodded. "What's up, buttercup?"

He scowled at the nickname. "So, Moriarty and I's anniversary is coming up, and we're thinking about going to Busch Gardens."

Andrea took her other earphone to make sure she'd heard correctly. "Excuse? Where'd that idea come from?"

"I don't know, it seems like a fun place to be, for...all three of us."

Her dark eyes looked up the emotionless mask. "You mean... You won't leave me home?"

"Why ever would we? It's an amusement park," he pointed out.

"Yes, but it's also you guys' anniversary. If you want to go alone, I'm fine here!"

Sebastian wanted to make up for the squabbles they'd been having recently. He did love Andrea, as if she were his real daughter, and wanted to be a good parent. Someone she could have fun with and confide in. "It wouldn't be the same without you there." Then, feeling like he was going soft, added, "and we're pretty much a family... And family means no one gets left behind..."

Andrea let out a long awww, remembering the time she'd forced Jim and Sebastian to watch Lilo and Stitch. Her dad had lots of trouble with 'things getting his eye', as she recalled. "You two are adorable. Count me in!"

Smiling a bit, the tall blonde closed her door- that was painted like a Tardis, by the way- and returned to Jim who was lying face down on the couch and covered in pillows.

"Jim."

A low grumble issued from underneath two large pillows. Great, his bipolarity was acting up again. Seb knew how to fix that, though. "Busch Gardens is a go."

Moriarty's fists appeared in a little victory air-pumps, and the pillows fell away from him as he sprang up. After pecking Sebby on the lips, he proceeded to dance down the hallway like some demented Charlie Chaplin and to snap his fingers rhythmically as he went.

"Well, that worked." Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, and pulled out the laptop.

* * *

A few days later, they were sitting happily in a silver rental car. Being inconspicuous required such things, but it wasn't like the consulting criminal lacked any funds.

Andrea and her beloved father, any rift between them now mended, at least for the day, were dancing together in the backseat. "We're going- on a glorious- adventure-" They chanted, busting random dance moves at every pause. Sebastian couldn't help but chuckle at their enthusiasm.

That was how the Busch Gardens greeters in the pass-checking section saw them; two very attractive men toting a curly haired teenage girl. Moriarty had put on his favorite shirt for lazy days; it was light purple, and had a Nyan cat stretched across it in a streak of rainbow pixels. Sebastian wore a black polo, and the couple had matching khaki shorts. Andrea, on the other hand, had a blue tank top, jean shorts and hair in a high ponytail. It was a surprisingly nice day, the sun warm on their faces and the breeze cool on their shoulders.

They went just about everywhere. Jim pulled them into the wig shop, and looked utterly delighted at the reflection of himself wearing a stuffed crown.

They'd sat on garden benches, telling racist jokes and laughing at the passerby's expressions.

The game arcade called Andrea's name, and she blew what must have been close to forty dollars in there trying to win the new generation of iPod touch. (Which she did, eventually, after overriding the game's rigged system.)

Sebastian was just glad to be with who he considered his family. As an orphan, he hadn't had many benefits in life; he'd skipped school to go to bars and shooting ranges and had such awful behavior in class and towards other students that he'd been expelled. Both girls and guys had been interested in him- before realizing his lack of personality.

But all the while, while other kids were walking through crowded halls and studying Calculus that 70% of them would never use in their future lives, Sebastian Moran's aim was getting better and better.

He recalled perfectly the day that a much older kid, a senior, had tried to shove him into a trash can- and ended up with a bullet embedded in his lung.

And, that's how a short, brunette boy with shining eyes first met the young master Moran. Standing over a gasping, bleeding body with no remorse on his perfect features whatsoever.

Sebastian had felt a thrill when he first saw Jim. He knew now, unlike his younger self, that it was love. It was the first feeling he remembered having, in his sociopathic life. He still felt that rush of love, every time he saw his boyfriend, and knew he'd kill to feel it again and again. Sebastian would do anything for his family.

And perhaps that's why he was allowing himself to be dragged onto a giant roller coaster.

"Come on, Sebby, it'll be fun!" Andrea precariously hung from the seven-foot-tall man's hand.

"Ugh, but roller coasters give me a headache!" He protested, before seeing his boyfriend's puppy dog eyes.

"...Please, love?" Jim begged, holding onto Seb's other hand and looking absolutely pitiful.

Well, crap.

The next thing he knew, he was being whipped around by the Alpengeist, 500 feet in the air. Moriarty was whooping, Andrea was cursing like a drunken sailor, and Sebastian was holding onto the thick, plastic safety harness for all he was worth.

When the three wobbly legged criminals hobbled off the roller coaster on unsteady legs, hair looking like they'd survived a tornado, the sun was beginning to go down. It dyed the sky with lovely orange, pink, and dark blue like the marbled pattern of paint before it is mixed properly.

"We should head home," Sebastian said to his tired, but very happy companions.

"Let's get back to Italy, I guess." Said Moriarty reluctantly. That's where they'd parked, but they'd have to take the sky tram to get back. Otherwise, they'd be walking quite a ways.

Andrea nodded through a yawn, but didn't miss the gaze and smile Jim directed at his significant other when the taller man's back was turned. "You guys get a tram to yourself, I'll be in one close behind."

Sebby started to protest, but Andrea insisted. "It's your anniversary. You deserve at least a few minutes without a third wheel!" She smiled cheerfully, Sebastian gratefully.

Night was falling, and the stars and airplanes were playing peek-a-boo with each other. The park was empty at that hour of the night, except for a few stragglers. Sliding onto one of the shiny seats of an empty car, held up by strong wires and gears, Jim snuggled up against Sebastian. "Today was brilliant," he said, looking up at his date lovingly.

"That was the idea," Sebastian teased. "Happy 5th Anniversary, love." He said it softly to the dying sun, taking the sky's pink hues past the horizon with it. Sebastian leaned down and kissed Moriarty deeply- who, to him, would always be Richard Brooks; a small, un-intimidated boy beaming up at him from a sunlit school alley.

* * *

**Yay for fluff. You guys deserve some happiness, before some crap hits the fan... (OH NO, IS SHE FORSHADOWING?!) And now, to some review responses.**

**neva-chanluvsmonsters101: That was deep, bro. I can't even see you anymore.**

**feywind1: You warm my heart to the very core. THANK YOUU! 3**

**And to all others: Bless you. Bless every one of you. **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing. **


	7. Chapter 7: Not Quite the Final Problem

**Author's Note: Lordy. SO SORRY for the horridly long delay, we completely forgot about writing! **

**To make it up to you all, chapters will be coming more frequently. I hope. Enjoy. **

**Chapter Seven: Not Quite the Final Problem**

The ride home from Busch Gardens had been a quiet one. Moriarty sat staring into space, barely blinking at all while Sebastian kept his eyes on the road. Andrea was asleep in the backseat, oblivious to the plan in both the men's heads.

In Jim's, there was a cacophony of plots. He knew exactly how he was going to get revenge on Sherlock Holmes, and he knew when; very, very soon.

The criminal mastermind wasn't just going to kill him and be done with it, as lovely as that sounded. No, he wanted it to hurt. Not just physically, but mentally. He wanted to leave a scar on the hearts of everyone who knew the detective, and Sherlock's own to be ruined beyond repair. Artfully, and fabulously. He licked his lips.

On the other hand, Sebastian was thinking romantically; marriage, specifically. Questions raced through his head. 'Would he say yes if I asked him? I mean, we're murderous criminals, is it the best idea? It might get in the way of his work, and would he even want it in the first place?'

Their thoughts continued until both came to a decision.

"Sebby-"

"Jim-"

They both spoke at the same time, and Sebastian looked at him quizzically. "You first."  
"The stars have informed me," he said with a smirk, "that it's time for my glorious plan of wonder."

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow.

"I can't tell you yet- it'll be a surprise. But tomorrow, can you do me a favor?"

The sniper's clean, unblemished hand reached over to squeeze his date's. "Anything."

Jim smiled, his big brown eyes sparkling with mischief like he was about to steal all the cookies from the cookie jar.

* * *

John swiped his card again, frustrated. Why, oh, why did technology hate him so? First the chip and pin machine, and now he couldn't even get a tiny plastic card to function correctly. Great.

He was just about to give up and go home when a little message on the uncooperative screen caught his eye;

_Card not recognized. Please wait. Thank you, John._

John just about threw himself into the middle of the road, to end his miserable life, when Mycroft's shiny car pulled up. Sighing resignedly, John slid in. He didn't bother trying to make conversation with Anthea this time. Pretty, yes. But there was really nothing but cobwebs where a brain should have been, behind the pretty face.

After arriving, John had a bit of a spiel with silent men, and was carried off by some more. Finally finding Mycroft, they'd sat down- The lazy bastard was just sitting there, drinking expensive scotch and toying with his folders. The ever-present black umbrella was leaning beside him. John often wondered if that thing was a sword, or even a gun. That was when John found out about his family's predicament.

"Six top assassins, living in spitting distance of 221B. Do you know what this means?"  
Shuffling through the folders, John's eyebrows furrowed. "I'm moving?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and lowered his voice. "Your home right now is attracting- undesirable people, shall we say- and I don't want any of you, much less my nieces, being hurt because of Sherlock."

A bit of fury simmered within the shorter man. He curled and uncurled his fingers into a fist, staring a hole in the floor. "What is it with you, Mycroft? Why do you feel the need to stick your nose in and 'supervise' everything?"

A heated staring contest sparked between the tall ginger and the hedgehog, as Adrienne had recently dubbed him.

Mycroft sighed. Ever the diplomat, he continued. "I mean you no disrespect as parents. I'm sure that you are more than capable of taking care of and defending them, but I only offer this as a suggestion and as a precaution. Take it or not, they will be in absolute safety here without knowing or fearing your... neighbors."

John sighed. He knew that Mycroft was right, but he just didn't want to be parted from them for any manner of time. School days were long enough; he fretted like the mothers they'd never known. "What should I tell them?"

"I'll text them, and ask if they'd like to stay here for a few days. Simplicity," he said, his face the picture of snark, counteracting John's outburst. Then, he turned and strode away on long legs.

John left as well, stomping as compared to Mycroft's graceful gliding, muttering "God save the queen" under his breath.

* * *

"They have to find him guilty. They _have_ to," Sherlock growled, wearing a dent into the floor with his incessant pacing. Paige and Adi were in the next room, playing Apples to Apples. Sherlock had just returned from Moriarty's court case, and John had gone out to the nearest PayPal.

"That Moriarty fellow?" Adrienne asked, putting down a red card reading 'MUD'.

"Who else?" He snapped.

The two paid no attention to his curtness, as he was like this a lot. The scissor-sharp words they'd once been wary of were now treated like a blunt butter knife.

"How on earth did he manage to break into the Tower of London?" she questioned again, and glanced at their concentrating father. His eyes were so narrowed that they almost looked closed.

"Not just the Tower of London. The Bank of England, and Pentonville Prison."

"Good lord, is he crazy or stupid?" Replied the taller girl.

"Neither. He's a genius." Then, the curly haired sociopath fell silent and refused to talk anymore.

Adrienne and Paige looked down at their phones simultaneously at the message that popped up.

_Would you like to stay at my place? Sherlock and John have a case -M_

Paige looked up at the other. This case was news to them, but they agreed on going. They didn't visit the "queen"'s estate every day, after all. They typed back their affirmative reply, and Mycroft sent an assurance that his chauffeur would be there soon. In about two minutes, his prophecy came true.

"Bye, dad!" They called, to a Sherlock who wasn't paying attention. He was in a don't-bother-me funk, his hands against his bow shaped lips and his eyes closed in concentration; so they didn't explain their future whereabouts.

Climbing into the car, they chatted and laughed the whole way there. They'd never been to their uncle's house, but knew what to expect.

"How much do you want to bet that the walls are gold and patterned with umbrellas?"  
"I see your umbrellas, and raise you one diamond chandelier."

When they arrived, Mycroft saw them coming up the driveway and opened the door to meet them. It was large and stained a dark brown color, with a- you guessed it- gold knocker.

"Hello." He greeted, leading them inside and hugging them each with one arm. "Welcome to my humble abode."

They stared around in amazement. "Humble?" Adrienne exclaimed.

Her counterpart chimed in, "Hooooly..."

Mycroft smiled. His extravagant taste wasn't often appreciated. "I'll take that as a compliment. Shall I lead you to your rooms? This is a particularly convoluted crime, it may take Sherlock a while."

Mycroft didn't know how true his words were, at the time. And while they nodded and followed their beloved uncle, they wished that they could help and not hinder their father's work. To not be underfoot, or in the way.

* * *

John hadn't arrived home yet, and Sherlock was bored. He'd been spinning around in Mrs. Hudson's old wheelchair, for no apparent reason, for about an hour with a large feathered hat adorning his head like a drunk peacock.

His incessant spinning stopped abruptly when he heard soft footsteps coming up to his flat. Sherlock tipped over, making a large _THWUMP_ resonate in the silent lull. The world seemed to pause, before he sprang to his feet, brushed himself off with dignity and pulled out the violin. He played a bit, attempting to accentuate his cheekbones to look mysterious- he knew exactly who his unexpected visitor was.

"Most people knock," Sherlock shrugged slightly. "But then, you're not most people, I suppose. Kettle's just boiled," he pointed out, like this visit was the most natural thing in the world.

Jim just walked in and picked up an apple, sitting in the chair opposite the one Sherlock had gestured to.

Detective Holmes may have looked calm, but in his head, he'd already killed the smug little ass thirty seven times- each method immensely creative.

Taking a teacup, Jim commented on Sherlock's interrupted music choice on his violin. "Johann Sebastian would be appalled. You know, when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ..."

Sherlock played along with the tedious story. He'd heard it so, so many times from Mycroft when he ranted about unfinished work. "And the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it."

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody."

"Neither can you," Sherlock retorted. "That's why you've come."

Moriarty smiled. "But, be honest. You're just a tiny bit pleased."

"What, with the verdict?" Picking up a teacup, he added a splash of milk to each. Knowing that his archenemy was left-handed, he spun the handle the other way around. Take that, chair thief.

"With me." Jim's voice was so creepily calm and soft, it was unbearably annoying to the curly haired genius. "... back on the streets. Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain."

He grinned, and Sherlock turned away from the psychopath. Jim, on the other hand, continued.

"You need me, or you're nothing. Because we're just alike, you and I – except you're boring. You're on the side of the angels."

Sherlock picked up his tea and stirred it without a single *clink*ing sound. Had John been there, he would've known to leave the room very quickly.

The guest picked up his own tea, stirring and looking pensively at it. Sherlock could have sworn, that for a moment, he looked sad. As if tears would spill from his big, brown eyes instead of the liquid from his precariously placed teacup. But in a moment, fast as a flash of lighting, it was gone.

"Got to the jury, of course."

Jim scoffed. "I got into the Tower of London; you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

"Cable network."

"Every hotel bedroom has a personalized TV screen ... and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm." The suited man sipped his tea delicately. "Easy peasy."

Sherlock lifted his cup as well, but was too immersed in the mystery before him to even think of drinking tea. Even the british had their limits. "So, how're you going to do it? Let me guess- burn me?"

"Oh, that's the problem," Sherlock's adversary said softly. "the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?"

Holmes sipped his tea and stared at him.

"What's the final problem...? I did tell you..." In a sing-song voice that made Sherlock contemplate homicide method number 89 (being covered in paper cuts and drowned in boiling lemon juice), he continued; "But did you listen?"

* * *

Mycroft closed the door behind him, after awkwardly telling them that dinner would be at 5. He was very eloquent and good with people, but when it came to family- the Holmeses were a different story.

Adrienne flopped onto her bed, facedown. Paige walked over, placing their 'staying-the-week-bags' on the floor. She then proceeded to poke her sister repeatedly.

"Whaaaat?" Drawled the aggrieved party.

"Cheer your face."

"There's nothing wrong."

"We both know that's not true," Paige continued poking.

Finally, Adrienne gave in. She sat up, and looked at the taller girl. "I think Sherlock's up to something."

Light brown eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"He must have wanted us out of the house, otherwise John would never have let us go."

"Why must you always look on the negative side?"

"Because I'm a negative person," Adrienne argued.

"No, you're not."

"You wanna bet?" But before she could say anything else, Adrienne looked out the window at the rain that had randomly started. Beyond that, however, standing in the window of a neighboring house, was a tall man. He appeared to be blonde, and holding a long, cylindrical object- a gun, possibly, but she couldn't see perfectly through the veil of rain- and staring straight at their window.

Adrienne quickly looked away, pretending to've seen nothing.

"Adi? What's going on with you?" Paige asked.

Adrienne pulled out her phone and texted the clueless girl. Then, she left the room, leaving the nonplussed child behind.

She was about to follow, but fell onto her bed instead. Paige closed her eyes for a brief second, but a notification from her phone caused them to shoot open.

_New Message  
From: Adi  
Don't look now. But there's a guy in the house opposite with a gun, and he was looking at us. I left without saying anything so he wouldn't suspect that I saw him. In about 5 minutes, *leave* the *room* and meet me downstairs._

Paige looked up, her eyes wide, before remembering that she had an audience of one. She picked up a book on the bedside table- Wuthering Heights, would you expect anything less from the scholarly Mycroft- and flipped through a few pages before setting it down. Completing her performance, she sighed and left the room, her footsteps unrushed and normal. The door made a soft click shut before Paige bolted down the large staircase.

Adrienne met her halfway, and Paige exclaimed a quick "What the hell?"

"I don't know!" Her friend replied.

"How do you even know it was a gun?"

"I don't. But, better safe than sorry!"

The polished wooden stair creaked under Paige's pacing. "We have our own guns, couldn't we have taken him?"

Adrienne knocked on the other girl's head. "Hellooo? Unless you've honed your aiming skills to perfection, I doubt we could have shot a freaking _sniper._"

Just then, Mycroft came to the bottom of the stairs. "Everything alright, dears?" He'd never heard them argue before.

"Oh, uh.. Yeah! We're good. Just a spiel about... Shampoo."

They both stared at her.

"Shampoo." Mycroft stated, his eyebrows doing sarcastic acrobatics.

"Yup. I like strawberry shampoo. She likes mango conditioner. They don't blend well."

He stared at them for a few, long seconds before shaking his head and walking away.  
"Girls." he said to himself.

Adrienne looked at her. "Why didn't you tell him?"

Paige looked determinedly back. "I don't know about you, but I'm sick of depending on the grown-ups. How about we do a little sleuthing once we get to school?"

"Agreed," Adi said. "Let's ask Andrea? She could probably hack the ownership records of that house."

"Indeed. So, we'll soon see about that shady guy."

* * *

Back at 221B, the sociopath's conversation was drawing to a close. Sherlock was deducing away, and asked, "Why are you doing all of this? You don't want money or power – not really."

Jim just dug the point of his penknife into the apple.

Continuing, his voice sterner, Sherlock figuratively pulled him out of his reveries by his Westwood lapels. "What is it all for?"

Jim straightened up and spoke softly. "I want to solve the problem – our problem. The final problem." He lowered his dark haired head. "It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock; the fall." He raised his head again, and whistled a slowly descending note as his head fell against his chest yet again. As the note softened and died away, he added a *thud* sound to the end for some creative imagery. Jim looked at Sherlock and grinned. "But, don't be scared. Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination."

Sherlock just glared, and stood up. "Never liked riddles."

Jim stood as well, straightening his jacket and locking his gaze onto his opponent's. "Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I ... owe ... you." Then, he walked pointedly away.

Sherlock didn't move for a few seconds after he left, but soon made his way over to Moriarty's apple with the penknife still skewered into it. Slowly rotating it, he saw the letters I-O-U; the O being Moriarty's bite mark. Sherlock's mouth twitched into the beginning of a smile.


	8. Chapter 8: And They All Fell Together

**Author's Note: Here it is. The heartbreaker. I'd say "enjoy", but somehow I doubt that. ._.**

Chapter 8: And They All Fell Together

Andrea stopped in her tracks on Monday morning, turning around to see her friends running towards her. Mycroft had dropped the two off at 221B that morning to gather their school stuff and some food. John and Sherlock were nowhere in sight, but, ah well. That was normal.

"Aaaaannnnndddrrrreeeaaaa!" Paige yelled, drawing it out into 30 syllables and attracting a few stares.

"Jesus, what?" Andrea ran a hand through her curly hair as Adrienne skidded to a stop in front of her.

"SowewereatMycroft'sandwelookedoutthewindowandt herewasasniper-"

"Andwedidn'ttellanyonebecauseshampoobut wefiguredyoucouldhelp-"

She tried to make sense of the two's rambling, but quickly gave up. "...Ok, _shut up for a second!"_

They fell silent and stared at her with owlish wide eyes.

"Slow. Down. Repeat that."

They recounted their weekend tale, Andrea's eyebrows slowly working their way upwards. By the witness's descriptions... Was _Sebastian_ out to kill them?!

"Ok, chill out," she reassured them, also trying to calm herself. "I'm sure it was just a mistake, ok? I'll look into it."

A long exhale emanated from the two, and they deflated like overexcited balloons. "Thank you so much."

"That's what I'm here for..." Andrea said absentmindedly, walking out the school's front doors. Any watching administrators just sighed and let her go; they knew better than to argue with the infamous girl.

Andrea marched into the new apartment. They'd switched twice since her dad had walked out of court unscathed. "Seb? You home?"

She was greeted by nothing but silence.

"Great." Andrea said wearily. But then, she saw a familiar little device. She made her way over to Sebastian's cell phone, laying discarded on a coffee table. It was blinking with a red light that signaled a missed call. "Huh." He never left his phone behind.

Scrolling through his recent calls, Andrea clicked the brand new one from her father, and the message played to the empty apartment.

_"You've reached Sebastian Moran. Please leave a message after the tone, Jim, since you're the only one who ever calls me." _

_BEEEP._

Moriarty's voice sang forth. "_Hey, boo. Thanks for keeping an eye on the brats for me. Can't have them running off, now, can we?" She could practically hear her dad's grin over the recording. "Big plans, big plans. Anyway, it's all going down this afternoon. Be on the rooftop across from St. Bart's at one o'clock; you won't want to miss the show!"_

_click. _

Andrea set the phone down, exactly how it was.

...What?

Sebastian _was_ watching her friends? Her dad was on the roof? What in hell was going on?

She spun around as the door opened and Sebastian strode in. She pretended to have done and heard nothing. "Hey. What's cookin', good lookin'?"

"Mrrrrrr." He grunted, walking over to his phone. "Sometimes I hate your dad."

Andrea laughed. "What'd he do this time?"

"Oh, just the usual; dragging me everywhere." He picked up his phone, and hit the missed call button.

_One missed call from- Jim _

His eyebrows angled in confusion and suspicion. Jim always left a message... And there it was. But it appeared to have already been listened to. Sebastian played it again, his eyes wandering over to Andrea who was humming and retrieving a frying pan from a low cupboard. He could only see her back, though; her eyes were the picture of guilt, and all that was running through her head at the sound of the replayed message was "Oh shit. He knows."

The phone snapped shut again. "Andrea?"

She turned around, wincing.

"Did you- and don't you dare lie to me- did you go snooping through my phone?"

She avoided his glare.

"You _DID_? What the hell's wrong with you?"

"I was just curious!" She blurted. "I never get to see my dad anymore, he only ever talks to you!" Tears sprang to her dark chocolate eyes. "Maybe I just wanted to hear his voice!"

Sebastian's rock hard heart softened just a touch, but his glare didn't falter. "Well, I'm going out to meet him. Do me a favor; don't be a nosy brat and follow me?"

And with that, he retied his combat boot and slammed the door as he left.

Andrea pounded the granite kitchen tabletop with a fist and a murderous expression. She was going to show him just how nosy she could be.

* * *

The wind on top of the building rustled Moriarty's normally perfect hair, making him more than a little irritable.

Sherlock glared into his enemy's eyes, who sinisterly smiled back. Sherlock knew what Jim wanted; he wanted him to jump. The psycho wanted to give him the fall he 'owed him'.

"Go on! For me, pleeeaase?" He said in a childlike voice. Jim was like that evil little kid in every horror movie. His personality was similar to a five year old's, trapped inside a man's body. Except instead of loving Thomas the lovable Choo-choo train, he loved death.

Sherlock grabbed Jim's collar and shoved him towards the edge. "You're insane!" Sherlock growled, absolute fury in his stormy grey eyes.

Moriarty just blinked innocently at his attacker. "Lil' 'ole me?"

Holmes pushed the man even further; Moriarty did nothing but whoop sarcastically. "Let me give you an extra incentive." His voice became more savage, as if he were not the one leaning over the edge of a building. "Your friends will die if you don't."

Horror filled the detective's eyes. "John."

"Not just John!" Moriarty whispered the next part. "Everyone."

"Lestrade…"

"Everyone. Oh, and let's not forget about your little girls! I think Adrienne and Paige- that's their names, right? Would look absolutely ravishing with a bullet through their heads. Mrs. Hudson...eh, why bother? She is so close to death anyway. That's no fun." Moriarty smiled with delight at Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock pulled him back onto the roof reluctantly, and absolutely furious.

"Five bullets, five gunman, five victims. There's no stopping them now…unless my people see you jump." Jim made puppy eyes at Sherlock. "You can have me arrested, you can torture me, you can do anything you like with me; but nothing's going to prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your family, your only friends in the world will die…unless…"

"…Unless I kill myself. Complete your story."

Jim cheered ecstatically. "You must admit, that's sexier."

Sherlock's mind wandered. He was thinking about Jim's statement about his family. John wasn't a "friend"- he was so, so much more. With his awkward hugs, tiny height and compassion for everything, Sherlock felt his heart split in two. And, then there was Adrienne... Adrienne, who had problems opening up to people, had only felt comfortable around him, John and her sister, Paige- who was good-hearted and a nervous wreck. He thought about how they all would feel, being abandoned. For the girls, it would be their second time left by a parent. Would any of them ever be able to trust anyone again? He couldn't bring himself to think about how they would feel to this- though it was for the sake of their lives.

"I die in disgrace."

"Of course! That's the point of this!" Jim was feeling wonderful now, despite his mussed hair. He could taste the suicidal victory on the tip of his tongue.

* * *

Sebastian was on the opposite building's roof, kneeling and watching his love's plan play out though the lens of his gun. He didn't know what that plan was, exactly, but he'd come anyway. It was his duty to Jim. The fragility of genius always required someone to see, to admire his evil.

He regretted his outburst at Andrea, but it would keep her at home for at least a while. Whatever was going to happen wouldn't be pleasant, so he was glad for his decision. A whirlpool of black anxiety was gnawing away at him, and no one was supposed to see any emotion from the lowly assassin. They didn't know, neither his fiancé or his almost-daughter, that they were Sebastian's entire world. So, there he stood, waiting for Jim's "final problem" to unfold.

* * *

Andrea wouldn't have stood for being left at home. Not in a million years would she be abandoned like a 3 year old while her fathers went on another pointless adventure. So, she had followed Sebastian onto the roof.

The tall blonde was still as a statue, and could have been mistaken for one besides the huge but thin gun added to the picture.

Jim was right about one thing; Sebastian, Andrea's father/babysitter, was attractive.

Sneaking up on him, she stared across the empty air to the building opposite them. On it, pacing, was her father- and Mr. Holmes.

What was Adrienne and Paige's dad- Sherlock- doing there?

* * *

Sherlock laughed as he stood on the edge. Sebastian could see Moriarty's eyebrows furrowing.

Seb really, really wanted to know what was going on; first, Sherlock had been on the ledge. Now, the men were very close together, too close for his perfect vision to read their lips.

All of a sudden, in one moment that flew as fast as a bird on steroids, Sherlock staggered back- and Sebastian heard a loud BANG.

* * *

"Oh, my god," Andrea thought. "Did my dad just shoot Sherlo-"

Then she screamed.

Sebastian's head whipped around, leaving the targeting lens, and seeing the forbidden Andrea hiding behind the chimney. Her eyes were filling with tears, and were as wide as the sun shining overhead. Sebastian turned back to the pair over yonder, just in time to see Moriarty's lifeless body falling. Down, down, down until a splash of blood-

"NO!" Sebastian's voice shattered the silence that came next. He hurled across the roof and his arms fell around his little girl. He crushed her to his chest, not wanting to believe what he'd just seen perfectly- comforting her as much as he needed comfort himself.

She didn't cry. She didn't hug him back. Andrea just stood there, glassy, disturbed orbs for eyes.

He knelt down, shaking her by the shoulders, too grief-stricken to call out "Earth to Andrea". Hot tears streamed down his face as he rested his chin on the top of her head, making sure she could see nothing more of the gory scene.

Then, he heard a tiny "No." Andrea's eyes closed, then flew open again and she pushed aside Seb's arms which were now as weak as noodles. She sprinted to his gun, and peered through the lens in desperation. Her father wasn't dead, he couldn't be, there he was-

With a halo of blood around his fallen head. He was visibly dead; stone cold with a smile still on his childlike face.

* * *

Sherlock reeled back from the man. He'd _shot himself_. Lifted a gun to his mouth and was no more.

The detective really couldn't care less about the death, except for the fact that the only way out of his sure demise was gone. His only scapegoat, laying dead at his feet.

He paced back and forth, his head a whirl- before a deathly calm came across his countenance. He could never hide, however, his eyes that were beginning to water as he stepped onto the ledge again and pulled out his phone.

* * *

John was rushing to pick up the girls from school. The day was only half over in the learning environment, but he was taking them out for dinner and had called the bereaved principal to let him know they'd be leaving early.

His heart was beating faster than normal; today was the day. He would finally tell Sherlock that he loved him. Bad idea? Probably. But, whatever happened would happen.

Hopping out of the cab, about a block away from the school and the neighboring hospital, his cell rang. 'Probably those two,' he thought with a smile.

"Hello?" Answered the gray haired man.

"John." Sherlock's deep voice came through.

This was a surprise. "Hey, Sherlock, you okay?"

"Turn around and walk back the way you came...now."

"But I have to pick up the kids, Sherlock, why?"

"Just do as I ask. Please." Sherlock's voice grew more frantic. With each passing minute, it was more probable that a bullet would find it's way through the man he loved's head.

Worry and fear spread through John like a climbing vine of ivy at Sherlock's voice crack. "Where?"

"Stop there."

"Sherlock?"

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

He did as he was told and his face filled with confusion. "Oh God."

"I…I…I can't come down, so we'll…we'll just have to do it like this." His deep voice cracked again.

"What's going on?"

"An apology. It's all true."

"Wh—What?"

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty." He said, looking over at a sobbing, pale girl kneeling on the ground with a blonde, broken looking man's arms around her.

"Why are you saying this?" John questioned angrily.

"I'm a fake."

"Sherlock…"

"The newspapers were right, all along. I want you to tell Lestrade...I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly…in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

"Okay. Shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, the _first_ time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could."

A single tear rolled down Sherlock's face and fell in the exact same path he would take in a few seconds. "I researched you, John. Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you." His voice cracked yet again, choking back tears. No amount of phone reception could ever express the pure defeat and heartbreak in Sherlock's voice, but it did enough. "It's a trick, just a magic trick."

John shook his head repeatedly. "No. All right, stop it. Stop it right now." He started making his way to the building, to slap his detective silly, and call him a blithering lunatic.

"No! Keep your eyes fixed on me, please! Will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"This phone call. It's, er…it's my note. That's what people do, isn't it- leave a note?"

Broken realization dawned over the man on ground level. "Leave a note...when?"

"Goodbye, John."

Sherlock dropped his phone and looked down at the panicking John.

* * *

Paige and Adrienne walked outside their middle school, chattering happily about an Avengers reference only they understood. The cafeteria was rather loud and obnoxious, and the girls much preferred the cool breeze, sun on their faces and each other's company out on the front steps.

The smaller girl pulled out two Tupperware containers she'd snagged on their visit back to 221B. "Oh, I forgot to tell you- dad made us a pie."

"Awwwh, that was so sweet of him. I didn't think John could make pies!" John always did the cooking at home. When Sherlock had tried, he'd ended up making the eggs into fully functioning grenades out of curiosity. (Which he'd then thrown at a poor, unsuspecting Mycroft.)

"Nope," Adi grinned. "Other dad. You should have seen him last Thursday night, poring over a recipe book like it was rocket science!"

Opening the plastic lid incredulously, Paige stared at it. "I'm almost afraid to eat it. He could have mistaken the water for formaldehyde or something." She cracked a half smile, but was genuinely touched by Sherlock's efforts.

Adrienne was as well, and wasn't about to let her dad's hard work go to waste. "Here goes nothing!" She exclaimed, lifting her pie-filled fork to her mouth. Swallowing, she closed her eyes and absorbed the chocolatey heaven. "It may look a little wonky, but it tastes amazing."

Tasting it, Paige fist pumped the air blissfully. "Freedom on a fork."

Suddenly, a yell ripped through the stagnant air.

"SHERLOCK!"

Their heads snapped up to see John, not far from the school parking lot, looking desperate. Their gazes travelled upwards, following his, to a figure on the edge of St. Bart's Hospital's roof.

_Sherlock. _

Adrienne screamed.

Up on the rooftop, Sherlock heard a shrill shriek. He knew who had made it. The great detective looked over at the figures in front of the middle school. Paige was on her feet, sprinting as fast as she could towards the hospital, completely forgetting her sister who stared fixedly at their precariously placed father- frozen in place like all functioning thought was trapped in quicksand.

His daughters. His beautiful daughters. They'd always be his- and now, along with John, they'd always be safe. He smiled at all three people on the ground, the most honest smile he could.

Sherlock saw Paige stop in her tracks at this.

After all the inner turmoil, which had taken only a few short seconds for his almost superhuman mind- Sherlock Holmes spread his arms like an avenging angel.

And fell.


	9. Chapter 9: The Aftermath

**Author's note: It's official. I am the worst story updater in the history of mankind. Sorry. Another sad chapter; I suck. Sorry again.**

Chapter Nine: The Aftermath

It was midnight. Less than 24 hours since the double-death.

Sebastian Moran was in the most terrifyingly quiet tornado of rage he'd ever felt in his existence.

There were only two people he cared about in this big, empty world; Jim Moriarty, and said man's daughter who was now in a deep, fitful sleep. Who would have been _his daughter_, if that blasted trigger hadn't been pulled.

He was going to propose. Right after Moriarty finished his business with the consulting detective, he'd been planning to take him to the park- it was a beautiful London day, for January; birds were singing, the grass was flowing in the wind- and pull out the two, plain golden rings he'd been hiding in the depths of his pocket for so, so long.

But all that was over, because of damned Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock had killed him, and God Damnit, he was going to pay. But, alas, Holmes was already dead and gone.

A tear of fury fell down Moran's cheek. 'Well. If the great Sherlock Holmes is dead, I should really pay my last respects,' thought Sebastian. 'the very least I can do is reunite him with his family.'

After retrieving Jim's body from the rooftop, he'd promptly had him cremated. Sebby didn't want to be reminded any more than already necessary. Jim's belongings, however, were still scattered through their apartment. Sebastian had read through Moriarty's texts, and now understood his whole plot; lure Sherlock to the roof, make him jump off by threatening to kill his family. Easy peasy. It hadn't exactly gone according to plan, obviously.

Funny; some nameless assassins were more trusted than he, Moriarty's boyfriend, was.

Pulling out Jim's phone one last time, Sebastian sent out a mass text.

_Jim Moriarty is dead. His final order still stands. Kill the specified targets. _

_-M_

* * *

Andrew Harrison was sitting in his dark, rented flat next door to 221B. He'd just now read the text from Moran, about the death of his boss, and didn't quite know how to take it.

_Moriarty's last order still stands. Kill the specified targets._

Andrew sighed. He _did_ feel bad about his task; honestly, did a retired soldier- and two teenage girls, for God's sake- really deserve to die?

But, hey. He was an assassin. And assassins do what they're told.

It was now around 12:40; the Holmes family would surely be sleeping fitfully after the day's hubbub. Andrew could do away with them quickly, quietly and humanely. He left his flat, and walked the tiny distance to the late Sherlock Holmes' flat. It looked entirely the same as it looked days ago through his hidden camera's view.

Picking the lock quickly and walking in like it was the most natural thing in the world, he made his way up the stairs of 221B. There were no noises from the sleeping Mrs. Hudson in the next room, no pots and pans clattering away. From the next floor up, the army doctor was silent. This was odd; over the extremely noise-sensitive cameras hidden in the flat, Andrew was under the impression that John snored. Very loudly. Much like a truck going down the freeway. (No wonder he slept a floor away.)

Ah, well. Tiptoeing up the stairs, making not even a creak, the brown haired assassin trod lightly in. The window was open, a cool breeze tossing the silky white curtains. The moon was visible, a crescent shining beautifully.

John Watson was indeed asleep, but his face was screwed up in pain. He must be having a nightmare; unsurprising, really. Andrew reached into his pocket, pulling out the tiny vial of clear poison he intended to stick into the doctor's exposed neck. He took off the cap of the thin needle, and took one step towards him- when a huge, black figure swung inside through the window, as graceful as an acrobat, and kicked him square in the chest.

None of the sleeping figures heard the almighty thump, and if they had, they would have woken to see absolutely nothing. Not a six foot tall figure-coincidentally, with a mess of curly hair- dragging away an unconscious Andrew Harrison.

Just a peaceful night sky, so drastically contrasting from their horrible feelings of abandonment.

* * *

Later, on the cool evening of January 20th, John faced a minuscule party of mourners, out of which only four people at most gave a flying crap about Sherlock. Taking a deep breath, he finished up his stiff eulogy.

"Sherlock Holmes- was not an idiot. And, so what, if he didn't have the most friends, or won the 'most-liked award'? He was, and will continue to be, the smartest- the greatest- man I've ever known."

A tiny cacophony of murmurs followed his speech as he trudged away from the black coffin.

He knew they thought him a joke. After all, the man inside the coffin had thrown himself off a building. He had committed suicide 'like a coward'.

Just hearing opinions like that made John want to tear his eyes out. Maybe then, he wouldn't have to see his best friend's coffin lowered into the ground. He would never know that Sherlock's favorite scarf was tied in a bow and secured to the lid.

He hadn't even gotten a last look at the obnoxiously tall man. His coffin had been nailed shut, as his body was in 'too horrible of a condition to be seen by the public'.

John never even got to say goodbye.

A few feet away from the grave, sitting under a huge, swaying oak tree, were Adrienne and Paige. With black dresses and blank expressions, they didn't look like themselves at all. All that was running through their heads was the memory of the gruesome scene from mere days ago.

_All three, Adrienne, Paige and John, had run faster than they had ever run in their entire lives. They'd tried hard to choke back screams and tears, but it was no use. When they saw their father's limp body on the ground, they lost it. They screamed for people to get help. _

_John, the most athletic, got there far before the other two. He made his way slowly through the crowd; he'd taken a fall due to a careless bike rider. _

_Vision swimming like a drugged jellyfish, he cradled Sherlock's head, neck limp and a mask of blood shading his otherwise perfect features. "No. No, no, no, Sherlock... No.."_

_The smaller girl took her lifeless father's body into her arms. She held onto him for dear life- perhaps that's not the best expression- and hid her face against his broken chest. Paige just stared. They were barely even breathing. _

_The world around them was deafeningly silent. It felt as though they were underwater- they couldn't move fast enough. The three couldn't hear any of the voices through the murky depths, crashing onto them like a blanket weighing 10 tons. _

_They held on for as long as they could before the strong arms of passerby hauled John away. Adrienne's arms were weak, and Paige easily lifted the small girl. All Paige could think was, 'This isn't real. Things like this can't happen to me." _

_It had taken five full grown men to pull John away from the shell on the ground, but he just kept repeating in his own heartbreaking mantra; "He's my friend...he's my friend..." _

_But he and the rest of his family knew what he really meant._

_ "I love him. I love him."_

_Paige hugged Adrienne consolingly, repeating, "It'll all be fine. Daddy'll be ok." But the sad part was, the freckled girl honestly believed what she was saying. _

_As comforting arms wrapped around all of their shoulders, leading them away pointedly, they never noticed Sherlock's limp body being wheeled away down a dark alley._

What none of them knew, however, was that Sherlock Holmes was not dead at all.

The small mess of black clothed figures meandered away shortly after John's eulogy. They talked amongst themselves, all about the great detective. How much of an attention whore could he have been, to commit all those crimes and murders just to impress people?

Sherlock, perching on a thick branch of the oak above his daughters, smirked. John was looking angrier and angrier by the second, overhearing the conversations. It amused Sherlock that no matter how times may change, John never did; he was still irritated by what people thought of his best friend. The thought warmed the detective's heart.

John sauntered over to his daughters, as unaware of Sherlock as they were. Adrienne was sniffling, her eyes puffy-Paige staring off into space and forever biting her nails in stress. She'd painted them a lifeless black for the occasion.

"Might as well go home," said John. He was putting up a brave front. "I'll just be another minute."

They nodded and stood up, brushing off the backs of their dresses. They held hands habitually for comfort and walked to the cab.

John waited until they were out of earshot. They were depending on him to keep life relatively the same, so he couldn't let them see him crumble. And, crumble he did; his shoulders sagged, and he stared fixedly at Sherlock's black, shiny gravestone.

Said detective heard John sigh, and utter his second monologue for the day.

"Uh, well... This is awkward. Hey, Sherlock."

The curly headed fool smiled a sad smile, wishing he could reveal himself. He couldn't do so yet; there was one last thing he had to do before returning to his family. He'd rather they needlessly grieve than be buried right next to his false grave.

"You told me once... That you weren't a hero. Well, there were times when I didn't even think you were human. But, let me tell you this. You were the best man- the most human-" he stopped, thinking back on his word choice. Aloof as always. "...the most human being? I've ever known. And, no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie." John rushed through the end, and Sherlock thought he had finished until John walked two more steps and put his hand on Sherlock's grave.

"I was so alone, and I owe you... So much." John looked up, trying to blink the tears away. Sherlock stayed as still as possible.

"One more thing, one more miracle, for me. Don't be dead."

* * *

About a week later, the girls had to go back to school. John had just kept letting them stay home; he wouldn't have wanted to go anywhere either. They made breakfast, ate and packed their tote bags like any other school morning, except for the lack of life in 221B. It was all but silent, except for some conversation between them and John. It all seemed pointless now- a daily charade that they couldn't escape from. Sherlock, somehow, had. He'd carved his own way, being the most unique person they'd ever come across. But now...

John kissed their foreheads, smiling at them reassuringly. "I love you," he told the melancholy girls. "Don't ever forget that."

They attacked him with hugs, almost knocking him over. "We love you forever, dad."

He kept his smile a few minutes after they'd left, trying unsuccessfully to reassure himself.

They made it though the first two periods of the day. Their third class, right before lunch, was history. Both Adrienne and Paige read books under their desks, occasionally passing notes.

Andrea was only a few desks away, but she refused to make eye contact or recognize her friends' presence. Sebastian hadn't told her the truth of her father's actions.

Oh, well. Only half an hour left of history.

* * *

Outside, a man in his late twenties strode into the school. He went by the name of Dave Westerlin, and his profession- you guessed it, another assassin.

Walking into the building, he made for the office and caught the attention of the mild mannered woman at work on the computer. The poor lady just kept having the wool pulled over her eyes, first by Andrea and now by Dave. Normally, what she didn't know couldn't hurt her. But in this deadly game, it absolutely could.

Dave gave his most charming smile, poison vials clinking in his pocket. He felt no remorse for his job, unlike Andrew. None of his brothers in arms had heard from Andrew in days; as a matter of fact, Dave hadn't heard from any of them in quite some time.

"Hello, ma'am. I'm here for Paige and Adrienne Holmes. Will formalities, and the like." His eyes held false sadness. "I trust you've heard of the recent tragedy?"

"Oh, yes," She replied, her head bobbing furiously. "Those poor dears. I can't imagine what they're going through. I'll call them to the office right away, Mr.- what did you say your name was?"

"Westerlin, ma'am."

"Westerlin. Alrighty then." She picked up the phone used to speak over the intercom with, punching in their room number on the keypad.

* * *

_"Could you send Paige and Adrienne Holmes to the office for a moment, please?"_ The intercom buzzed into their history class.

"They're on their way," drawled Mr. Reeder, his voice nasal and irritated at having his awful class interrupted. He jerked his head at the door in a motion for them to go, picking up his textbook yet again. A collective sigh of resigned disappointment came from the classroom.

Adrienne tried to get Andrea's attention on her way to the door, but to no avail. She stared fixedly downwards, carving violently into her desk with a pair of scissors.

They walked into the bland hall together. "Whatd'ya think they want?"

"No clue." They walked on, until a storage closet to their left shot open.

Paige gasped, her counterpart almost screaming before they were pulled by the arms into the closet. All was black, and their wide eyes couldn't see a thing. They could each feel, however, a black gloved hand covering their mouths.

Adrienne started panicking, letting out muffled yells. Paige punched and hit anywhere within a three feet radius of her, when the general space in front of them spoke.

"Adi. Paige. _Calm down_."

Their eyes grew to the size of dinner plates at the voice. It sounded unbearably familiar.

Their assailant removed his hands from their mouths, and Adrienne immediately started talking. Her voice was harsh. "Whoever you are, if this is your idea of a jok-" She didn't get to finish before the closet's lights flicked on.

That was when Adrienne fainted.

* * *

Drew sat impatiently in the office, twiddling his thumbs. It had been over twenty minutes since the woman had called his targets to his location. Surely it didn't take this long to walk from a classroom just a few halls over?

He stood up, walking back over to the desk. "Excuse me. I don't want to be a bother, but is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" She replied, her jewelry jangling.

"Yes," he spoke through gritted teeth, "wrong. Where are the kids you called to the office?"

Confusion littered her wrinkled, friendly face. She picked up the phone, dialing away. "You're right, sir. I'll call for them again." The bun on the back of her head, looking curiously like a honeybun, bobbed with her every movement.

"Y'know what? Forget it." Drew stalked angrily out of the office. They probably weren't even in school today; that idiot of a woman. He got to the parking lot, noticing a cab sitting on the corner- funny, most cabs were usually at work this time of day- when a hard object hit Mr. Westerlin on the back of the head. Presently, all went black as he hit the ground.

* * *

Back at 221B, John was panicking.

"What do you mean, they've gone missing?!"

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Watson, this must be a horrible inconvenience. Teenagers will be teenagers, you know. They're probably just playing hooky, and will be back before you know it. Regardless, we have police cars roaming all over London looking for them. Everything will be fine, sir."

John just about picked up his gun and shot the phone. After the loss of Sherlock, Paige and Adi were all he had left. They couldn't be gone. They. Just. Couldn't.

"Do you understand what could have happened to them?" John yelled. "My daughters were your fucking responsibility for a mere _six hours _and you blithering fools don't know what happened to them?! They could be laying dead in an alley somewhere, or-"

He cut off, his incessant pacing stopping as he heard the door of 221B click shut. John fell silent, listening to the footsteps. It sounded an awful lot like two people- no, three- were walking upstairs.

The daft woman's voice continued in the background, her reassurances being ignored. He clicked the END button on his cell, not bothering to call out for Mrs. Hudson. She had gone out only minutes ago, on her way to visit Sherlock's grave. That, as John knew very well from experience, was a twenty minutes drive.

The footsteps coming closer, John took a few steps towards the door too and looked askance at it. He grabbed his gun, not going to be caught with his pants down-

When Paige and Adrienne walked into the flat.

John's eyes widened. "Oh, thank God." He walked hurriedly towards them, yanking the girls into the biggest hug he could manage. "You're ok. Thank The Lord almighty, you're ok."

Pulling back, he stared at their faces in turn. They seemed paler than usual. "You are...ok, right?"

"Um...dad..." Paige said sheepishly, knowing what was coming. Or, rather, who.

John looked up from his desperate embrace to the doorframe which was again filled by a familiar personage.

"Sherlock?!"

**Poor John. Poor Sebastian. Poor Andrea. My poor babies. **

**Review away! It has been a pleasure sure bringing you this installment of imagination. Hope you enjoyed.**


	10. Chapter 10: Bonds

**Author's note: This chapter includes my theory for how Sherlock faked his death. Enjoy. I'll add the links that create my theory on my bio page, as this el stupido chapter entry won't let me add links. Bugger. **

Chapter Ten: Bonds

Sherlock took over, trying to save himself by talking. John was one of the only people he had to explain himself to, so normal rules didn't exactly apply. His million-track mind was going off the rails, stray thoughts bouncing off the inside of his skull liken rogue balloons.

"John, don't say anything. Just let me explain."

The doctor just collapsed into an armchair and put his fingers to his temples, trying to massage some sense back into his mind. "Yup. I've finally gone crazy. This is just another nightmare."

_Another _nightmare? Sherlock's ego was slightly flattered, though the quickly growing part of his brain that cared for the welfare of his family was worried. "John. Listen to me. You're not dreaming, and you're not in any other kind of drink or drug induced hallucination for that matter. It's me." Sherlock walked closer to him, kneeling down in front of the chair and putting a hand on the arm of it.

John let out a sigh, but wouldn't look at the detective's face. He spoke in a weary monotone. "Fine. Humor me. How in the- _hell_ did you survive that fall."

The girls, color coming back to their faces after the cold wind stole it away, tuned in acutely. When Sherlock had grabbed them from school, he had given no explanations; just a "trust me" and a knockout blow to the back of a man's head with a skateboard he'd found in a nearby dumpster.

"More importantly," Paige said, "why the hell did you jump?"

A grin came to Sherlock's face. Finally, a chance to prove his genius; and now, he had an audience hanging on his every syllable. "That's just it. You lot only saw me jump and fall- you didn't see me hit the ground."

An awkward silence ensued until Adrienne spoke up timidly. "Well, that's kind of a given, daddy."

Sherlock chuckled and poked her nose. How was it, that he was so gleeful when the rest of them were so shocked and clueless?

"I planned this out meticulously. People, contrary to popular belief, don't fall in straight lines. They fall in parabolas. All it is," he stated in his deep voice they'd missed for so long, "is projectile motion physics." Sherlock smirked at Paige, knowing that she slept during math class. He could practically see her brain giving up on this explanation before it started.

"It takes 1.73 seconds to fall vertically, from a height of fifty-seven feet and eleven inches, with an acceleration of 9.8 meters per second.

You all, if you had been paying attention, would have seen that there was a truck parked right in front of St. Bart's. Traveling horizontally, there is no acceleration or deceleration; to travel the 24 feet to the truck, I would only have had to step off."

John spoke up. "But we all saw you, you didn't step off! You just flopped right over the edge!"

"It looked like that? Well, I did a better job of it than I thought." Ignoring John's glare, he continued. "Falling the way I did, there was actually quite a bit more horizontal velocity than if I had stepped.

This is also why I chose a tall building; if it had been a smaller one, I couldn't have made the distance to the truck. But off of St. Bart's, it took no particular effort." He finished that phase of his explanation, looking quite proud of himself.

Adrienne's quiet voice contradicted him next. "But you were lying on the ground, it was clearly you, there was blood all around your head-"

"That, my dear girl, wasn't my head. Grief does an excellent job of fogging one's eyes over. Before I fell, I went to Molly. As you know, she has corpses at her disposal. And as she is hopelessly in love with me, I only had to look pitiful and ask nicely."

John scoffed and said jokingly, "You don't know what nice is."

Sherlock smirked yet again. "Anyway. She was able to take a casting of my face- funny little thing they can do, with a mix of alginate and plaster. Looked very realistic, might I add.

On the street below St. Bart's, I had my homeless network wandering around. After the truck drove away, containing me, one of my faithful employees pushed the body I'd secured from Molly off a bench at the base of the hospital. It, wearing my face cast, acted as me while they slopped the blood I'd also gotten from Molly quite artistically around my doppelgänger's head. I had to give him one of my jackets and scarves- the worst tragedy of all.

Voila; and there you have it," Sherlock finished. "How the great Sherlock Holmes, genius extraordinaire, faked his suicide." He struck a victorious pose, looking like Christopher Columbus probably did when he discovered the "New World".

His daughters smiled, already knowing that it was him. Unlike John, who still thought the sandman had taken him hostage and was feeding him false realities. They walked forward and hugged him as tightly as possible, burying their faces into his familiar blue scarf. It had a few pockets of dirt in the folds- had he...?

"Did you... Dig up your grave to get your clothes back?" Adi questioned.

"Of course I did. They were my favorite."

Paige violently facepalmed. "Only you. _Only you_. You do know that they sell scarves and dress coats just about everywhere, right?"

Interrupting his sure-to-be snarky answer, John chimed in. "You still didn't say why you jumped off. No, don't tell me- you were bored."

Sherlock frowned at him. "Do you really think so little of my motives? It was to save your life. All of yours."

They all stared at him, nonplussed. "...What?"

"Moriarty," Sherlock grumbled angrily. "This was all because of Moriarty. While all three of you were out, you two at school," he motioned to Adi and Paige, "And you off getting groceries and the like-"

"For your information, I was kidnapped by your twat of a brother."

"He has certainly taken a liking to you, hasn't he? Humph. I'll have to fix that. Well, while you were gone, Jim dearest showed up here."

John spluttered like a busted drainage pipe. "What?!"

"He was with me on the rooftop of St. Bart's, too. Jim gave me quite the ultimatum. Either I jumped, or he had assassins kill everyone I love. Namely, you three. Not to mention Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly... The works. I had a suspicion that he would tell his cronies to do away with you anyhow, even after I jumped, which I was right about. Of course. I couldn't exactly leave you high and dry, and I couldn't let them know I was alive; so, I had to die."

Paige looked confused. "There haven't been any murder attempts on us, what are you talking about?"

Sherlock took her hand, pulling it away from it's partner. Ever since her father's supposed suicide, Paige's habit of picking the skin on her fingers had gotten- excuse the pun- out of hand. Right now, her thumbs were bleeding- she hadn't realized and had continued gouging out the sides of her shortest digits. Seeing them, she gasped and put her thumb in her mouth.

If this was how Paige was coping, Sherlock shuddered to think how Adrienne was. He took a breath. "That you know about. There have been countless assassins swarming around you. One tried to poison you just last night, John. He's gone. There were two at my funeral for the same purpose; I was your cabbie. See, nobody ever thinks about the cabby," Sherlock smiled mischievously, referencing he and John's first case together. "Got rid of them. There was even one at your school this morning," he told his young damsels in distress. "He was the last one- I'd already gotten rid of the rest of that vermin. There were around 20! You'd be surprised what the janitors at your school do on the side."

"What happened to Moriarty?"

"Dead. He shot himself through the head. It's a long story, one you'd probably need a psychopathic mind to understand."

Sympathy welled up in their daughters' hearts. So _that_ was why Andrea hated them now. They wordlessly promised themselves to make things right, somehow.

John stood up, shaking his head. "You genius. You unbelievable genius. You watched over us, all this time?"

The genius in the room smiled, proud of himself, before John spoke again.

"...It's a shame that none of this is real..."

Sherlock got closer to the misled man, his light blue eyes impatient yet serious. "John... This is real. I'm home."

John connected their gaze sadly. "Right. Punch me, then."

The taller man gave him a strange look, his face as confused as when associates mentioned his 'friends'. "What?"

"You heard me, punch me! In the face!"

Sherlock frowned. "I don't want to hurt you any more, John."

From the side of the room, the girls inwardly smiled at how soap opera-ish this was.

The smaller man started to walk away, when Holmes decided to take things into his own hands. He grabbed John by the shoulders, and spun him around.

"Fine. I'm sorry, John." As John's eyes widened at Sherlock apologizing for once in his life, said man's fist connected with John's face.

It felt plenty real.

John gasped, standing his ground but holding his abused face in shock. "What the hell. This is real."

Sherlock started to speak, no doubt an 'I told you so', but John cut him off.

"You asshole, I _hate_ you!" Yelled the army doctor.

But before Sherlock could apologize again, John grabbed the cringing man by the lapels of his dress coat and pulled his impossibly tall head down to his level. Then, John stood on his tiptoes- and kissed him.

The girls gasped, mouths falling open in shock. Finally! Of course, this is what the public thought the flat mates did in the first place, but only now did the duo's collective waterfalls of want meet together in the expectant lake of admittance below.

Sherlock pulled back after a moment, his eyes searching. "John... You..."

John wasn't taking the crap of not knowing any longer. "I love you, you blasted idiot. And if you ever leave me again, I swear that I will kill you. For real, this time."

Sherlock laughed delightedly, and pulled John into another kiss. To Sherlock, this was the best thing in the world to return to- the subject of his favorite dreams (in which Mycroft slipped on banana peels in the backround), though he tried not to dwell on wishes.

For John, he still could hardly believe that this was real. Until he could, he was just going to keep kissing the love of his life until fatigue intervened.

No more assassins, no more danger, no more secrets. For everyone, things were finally perfect.

* * *

The next day, the females of the house woke up to find their fathers in the kitchen.

Paige rubbed her eyes groggily, turning her yawn into a discombobulated wail. "_Awwwwohuhn_." She poked the Asian who had crawled into the room on her hands and knees, unwilling to accept the fact that when Mr. Sunshine rose in the sky, her legs needed to take over. "Wake up, you." She pulled Adrienne to her feet.

"Merrrrr. What's going on?" She asked sleepily. Mornings, as previously stated, weren't her strong suit.

John smiled at Sherlock, no longer having to hide his infatuation. Looking at his daughters, he said with a grin, "I thought we'd go visit your dear Uncle Mycroft today, and bring along a certain man who is supposed to be six feet under."

Sherlock looked uncomfortable with this. Adrienne noticing, asked, "Something wrong, daddy?"

He half smiled. It'd been much too long since he'd been called that. Taking a deep breath, his angelically curved lips parted as his eyes closed. "While the thought of causing my dear brother heart failure does inspire joy within me..." He exhaled. They might not take this kindly. "Mycroft already knows."

Jaws dropped, John's eyes speaking volumes; 98% of the pages stating something like "freaking unbelievable".

"Mycroft- _What_?!" John put his head down on the table.

Paige held up a hand. "Hold on. You pretty much hate Mycroft-"

"I don't hate him."

"-And he knew you were alive before we did?"

"Well," Sherlock pointed out sheepishly, "He knew from the beginning. Mycroft was driving the truck. I told him not to tell you, for reasons already known to you now."

_Bang. _Sherlock winced apologetically, looking over at John who'd begun slamming his head against the table. _Bang. Bang. Bang._

"I'm...sorry?"

John looked up, his forehead slightly red. It had a cleft left imprinted in it from the edge of the table. "Y'know what? I'm just done with you Holmes'. One, a sociopathic serial kidnapper who works as a detective. And, the other, the British government with an unhealthy attachment to his umbrella and a power complex."

Sherlock got up and took his cereal bowl to the sink. Somewhere along the way, he'd discovered an infatuation for fruit loops. As he walked the few steps, Sherlock ruffled John's hair already matted from bed head. "Oh, come on. Like you could ever be done with me."

The girls saw John's steely resolve melt into a puddle of butter. "Awwwwwwh," they said, synchronized, eyebrows angling while their blue and brown counterparts framed with bacterium shielding eyelashes observed the adorable scene.

The doctor glared at them. "Hush, you two."

Paige gasped. "Oh my God. I'm a genius. A freaking genius." She clapped her hands together, eyes widening much like Sherlock when he'd come across a realization.

Her best friend looked at her oddly. "What?"

Referring to John, she grinned, pearly whites glinting with mischief. "Dad, you were right. You're _not_ gay."

Sherlock cocked his head inquisitively.

"You're _HOLME-OSEXUAL._"

_BANG_.

* * *

A few hours and many bad jokes later, they ended up going to Mycroft's estate anyhow. The sky was just beginning to darken, daylight still illuminating the pavement under their feet. It was a beautiful day, so they decided to walk instead of sitting in a cab for twenty minutes.

A million shocked eyes must have found their gaze centered upon Sherlock on their walk, for many reasons. One, they'd been led to believe by countless tv programs and newspaper articles that the 'fake genius' was dead. Two, if that wasn't enough, the normally surly countenance of Sherlock was now beaming peacefully and chattering away to two girls walking alongside him whilst holding the hand of his faithful companion. If the public was alarmed, they thankfully didn't stop or talk to the little group.

When they finally found themselves on the doorstep of the unnecessarily large estate, they heard a crash echo through the large door. They looked at one another cluelessly until Sherlock, slightly panicking at what he didn't want to believe, kicked the door in. It spiraled into the empty hall as if pulled by rope into their newest mystery.

They ran inside, eyes searching for their government figurehead, and finally found his auburn head in an adjoining room.

Sherlock, seeing his brother's face fully now, immediately saw that something was wrong. He knew his brother better than anyone, and his inner deducing fairy screamed at him that Mycroft was in pain.

"Well, this is unexpected." What brings you here?" Mycroft asked, his voice weary.

The younger brother looked his previously named 'archenemy' in the eye. "Mycroft, what's wrong?"

"Wrong? Whatever do you mean?" he tried to act normal, almost succeeding, but he couldn't hide himself from the hawklike eyes of his little brother.

Sherlock could see the strain it was taking him just to stay upright. Taking another once-over of his brother, his mind was a blur. Sherlock's mind reeled. Normally, he believed his deductions to be one hundred percent correct before confirming them. But why in the world would Mycroft, of all people, be hurt? What, did he lift a briefcase too heavy for him?

Just then, Mycroft almost collapsed. He grabbed onto the wall for support, and the girls looked at him in shock. They quickly ran over, each supporting one arm. That was when Adrienne saw the problem.

The arm she'd meant to put around her shoulders for her uncle's support- was drenched in blood. She nearly screamed, "_Dad_!"

John finally saw, his inner doctor panicking. "Mycroft, talk to me. What happened?!" John inquired frantically.

The tall man didn't bother hiding it any longer. He looked straight at Sherlock, having to gaze upwards as the girls held his slumping form. "You missed one, 'Lock."

"Myc!" Sherlock yelled in horror, instinctively using his childhood nickname for his brother. He picked him up, relieving Paige and Adi, and carried the unconscious man quickly to the nearest couch. The detective proceeded to rip Mycroft's shirt off in an anxious frenzy.

They gasped. Not only was their adoptive daughter's uncle much more muscular than they gave him credit for, but the gash on his bicep was huge and deep, bleeding darkly all over the place like a sadistic volcano.

Adrienne freaked out. "Oh god, oh god, oh god. Uncle M's going to die."

John's medical professionalism kicked in. "Paige, get your sister out of here and get her to breathe in a brown paper bag. Then find me a first aid kit, if you can! Sherlock, call an ambulance!"

The three did as they were told, Paige ushering the smaller girl out into the hall while looking back at her uncle in horror. The inanimate furniture was the only witness to John quickly taking his belt off, tightening it around his patient's arm and using it as a makeshift tourniquet. It cut off all circulation, stopping some of the blood flow.

Paige dashed in a few minutes later, with a first aid kit she'd discovered months ago under Mycroft's sinks on their first visit. "Here!" She called, handing him the red plus sign adorned box. She also handed him a few old but clean shirts, which he ripped up and used to staunch the blood.

"Thanks." He said, the urgency causing his speech to be clipped. "Adi?"

"She's in the kitchen, fine for the moment."

Sherlock strode in hurriedly. "Ambulance is on its way."

John nodded, continuing to focus entirely on his patent while the other two waited a few more anxious minutes for the tell-tale sign of the vehicle. Not soon enough, the wail of the siren reached their ears.

Adrienne sat on the granite kitchen countertop with her bag. She seemed to've recovered for the moment, so she dashed towards the kicked-in door to see the paramedics in. Three of them hustled in, one wheeling a stretcher down the hall and into the room where Mycroft lay.

The four, now standing in the hallway, watched helplessly as they lifted him onto the device and wheeled him into the back of the ambulance. Sherlock looked murderous, pacing back and forth while never taking his eyes off his brother.

A paramedic slammed one of the back doors of their white van shut, gesturing to the little family. They ran out, meeting him on the street.

"One of you needs to ride with us to the hospital."

"I'm coming," Sherlock volunteered seriously, climbing into the back of the ambulance and sitting at Mycroft's bedside. Well, stretcher side.

The other three ran to the corner and flagged down a cab, piling in. "Follow that ambulance," John ordered, throwing bills into the cab's passenger seat. It took off, with its three anxious passengers unable to do anything but wait and worry.

They got to the hospital in just a few minutes- St. Bart's, ironically. They were told to stay in the waiting room, and did so reluctantly. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, until he came striding down the hall fourty minutes later.

"They say he'll be fine, but he lost a lot of blood."

Adrienne looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "What did he mean by 'you missed one'?"

Her scarf wearing dad didn't meet her wide, dark eyes. "An assassin. I'd already gotten rid of three who'd tried to kill him, but there seems to have been one more of the bastards running around."

John took his boyfriend's hand and squeezed it. "He'll be alright, Sherl. Calm down."

Sherlock's hawklike eyes, the instruments of his detecting trade, darted to and fro. His curly hair was in even more of a mess than normal. "We have to check Myc's security cameras."

"I'll go back," John volunteered, his arm around a shaking Asian girl.

"No. I'm not leaving any of you behind again. We're going together."

John inquired, "Mycroft?"

Sherlock frowned, his thoughts like hornets stinging his long-dead center of sympathy. "He'll be fine.

So, they rushed back to the estate, before the sat patiently in the hospital's chairs and waited for their other Holmes to return to consciousness.

* * *

**Sorry... It was all happy, and I just had to screw things up again...**

**Yay! Review responses!**

**Guest: I love _you_. And, why thank you!**

**The Sorceress's Apprentice: Ermagerd, thank you so much! You have no idea what that means to me 3 **

**feywind1: Sorry, love. My heart sobs for them too; things just never work out for Sebby, do they? OH GOD, am I turning into MOFFAT?!**

**To all readers, I hope this chapter was the fulfillment of your hopes and dreams.  
**


	11. Chapter 11: His Little Brother

**Author's Note: Holy mother of flop. This chapter is literally twice as long as normal. O_o This chapter tells what transpired in that 40 minutes John and the girls sat in the hospital waiting room without Sherlock; the story of Mycroft and Sherlock's childhoods, explaining some things that follow them in their present day lives. Sherlock's lack of eating, the "childish feud" between them, etc. Mycroft is my baby, and as you'll find out later on, the best brother ever. **

Chapter 11  
His Little Brother

Mycroft opened his eyes blearily. He was weaving in and out of consciousness, and couldn't hold onto reality long enough to understand what was happening. It was like trying to read an important document with ink blotches spilled randomly throughout the page; a sense of urgency to discover its contents, but panic and confusion at not being able to.

At the moment, all Mycroft saw was an endless white ceiling. It stretched on and on, never changing, no divot or scratch to mark his place. He heard wheels squeaking slightly as the stretcher supporting him sped down a hall. He heard the voices of two hospital personnel handling said stretcher, babbling to one another. Last, he heard his brother's voice, yelling in frustration.

When Mycroft closed his eyes, the noise cleared away. But somehow, that didn't seem right- definitely not comforting.

But when he opened them again, the irritating white ceiling was gone. He was somewhere else.

Three year old Mycroft sat on a swing outside a humble, cozy looking home. It was a cold spring, the breeze making his cheeks flush. Bending and unbending his legs, he swung back and forth gently.

A clear screen door opened, and his father stuck his head out. "Lunch, Mycroft!"

Hopping off the swing reluctantly, he brushed the rust off his small hands from holding the chains too tightly. Trudging through the waterlogged grass of the large, pretty field, he bent down to pluck a bright gold dandelion. With his cargo, he walked inside.

Marie Holmes, his beloved mother, was spinning around the kitchen and singing. Thomas, her husband, sat on the other side of the wooden countertop.

The four foot tall boy walked up to his mother, bowing chivalrously and holding out his dandelion.

She smiled at his childlike formality, taking it and curtsying. "Why, thank you! Sir Mycroft, what would I do without you?"

Thomas chuckled. "That's a weed, Myc."

Marie shushed him as her son looked crestfallen. She kissed Mycroft's forehead. "Shush, you cretin. It's beautiful all the same." She put the small, petaled gesture of thoughtfulness into a glass of water. When she turned around again, Marie ushered the little gentleman to the bathroom. "Go wash your hands before you eat! Especially since they're covered in dirt," she said with a smile.

He did as he was told, half skipping to the bathroom door and reaching for the doorknob that was at eye level.

Opening it, he stepped into the bathroom- or what he thought was the bathroom. Mycroft was skipping through memories, and he was now six and a half. He'd grown a few inches, but was still the same slender boy as always.

He walked into his childhood room, painted a pale, mint green. Collapsing onto his bed, his head missed the open dictionary already occupying the mattress by an inch or two. Sitting up, he flipped the cover closed on a page filled with A-words; his favorite had been 'abattoir', an old word for slaughterhouse. It derived from the French word 'abattre', meaning "to fall".

'Huh. You learn something every day,' Mycroft thought. Even at six years of age, he loved to learn. While other kids his age were reading James and the Giant Peach, Myc preferred the encyclopedia. He could tell you the capital of every European country in a matter of seconds.

Besides some slight oddities, Mycroft was just like any other child. He ran amok, played in the mud, jumped on his long-enduring bed, and loved his family. Which, coincidentally, was close to having a new member.

A knock at the door came, and Marie poked her head inside when he didn't answer. "Myc? You alright?"

"I'm fine," He nodded, smiling at her. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I don't know. Ever since you heard we were expecting another baby, you've been... Off." Her voice was comforting and mild, like hot chocolate in a blizzard.

Mycroft knew he couldn't lie to his mother. Yes, he loved his father- but Thomas was a stiff, professional man. Marie was flamboyantly cheerful all the time, rambling to her husband who listened happily. They were perfect for each other.

"Well... I just... I love our family just the way it is. What if a baby ruins everything?" 6 year olds tend to be insensitive, without realizing they've said anything wrong. Marie, realizing this, put an arm around his shoulders.

"Myc, honey!" She said, noticing slight tears in his eyes.

"You won't love me anymore," he said softly.

"Oh, baby, that's not it. Not at all. Nothing will change, Myc. Yes, we'll all have the extra responsibility of taking care of your baby brother or sister; but that doesn't mean we won't have time for you! Mycroft, you're the world to us. Once the baby gets here, you'll just be sharing that world." Marie didn't mind saying mushy things in the slightest. "We have more than enough love to go around. Do you understand, darling? We love you. And always will."

Mycroft sniffed, feeling emotional. He hugged his mother, crying into her blouse. She stroked his hair lovingly, which was the same shade as hers.

"I love you, Mom." Said Mycroft.

The scene blurred out, and now 7 year old Mycroft Holmes was staring fixedly at his mother. She sat upright, cradling a small bundle of blue blankets that tiny hands reached lazily out of. The little fingers grabbed onto Marie's brown hair, which naturally curled into perfect corkscrew formations.

Marie giggled, teasing infant Sherlock by tickling his minuscule, slightly upturned nose. She held him out to Thomas, who sat quietly to the side with the biggest smile on his face. He took the baby boy carefully, and cradled him awkwardly. Sherlock stared at him with wide, blue eyes. Looking up, Mycroft's father called him over. "Come meet your baby brother, Mycroft."

The older child, tall for his young age, walked over to the miniature person his parents held like the most precious object in the world.

Seeing Mycroft for the first time, Sherlock opened his bow shaped lips- and sneezed. The baby looked astonished at his own action, looking almost apologetic at the boy standing over him. Sherlock reached up and patted his brother's face curiously. Mycroft's face split into an abashed smile.

The newborn was a touch smaller than other babies, as he'd been born two weeks early. He already had a few strands of black, curly hair on his otherwise bald noggin, but his eyelashes were long and curled. They originated at the frames of his bright blue eyes, like a lake shining on a summer's day with a gray reflection from storm clouds just beginning to cluster overhead. The nurse had commented, "Those eyes belong on a girl, mister!" before smiling at him and handing Sherlock to Marie's waiting arms.

Lastly, Mycroft noticed his lips. At seven, he hadn't seen many people with such a bow-like shape, and he investigated the angled curvatures of his brother's top lip in curiosity.

"Isn't he beautiful, Mycroft?" Marie smiled, cooing at her brand new cargo. "Welcome to the world, Sherlock."

"What kinda name is Sherlock?"

"Well, what kind of name is Mycroft?" His father teased him. Scowling, the child picked up the baby's hand gently between his forefingers and thumb. He shook it as one would shake a businessman's hand, excepting the fact that the recipient was less than a day old. "Nice to meet you, Sherlock," he smiled.

Thomas stood up, kissing his infant son's forehead before handing Sherlock to his wife. "Right, well, I'll go check us out."

Marie nodded. "Thanks, love. I can't take this hospital much more!"

"You've only been here half a day!" The door handle turned, and the tall, attractive man stepped out.

Marie called her eldest son over to her beside. "Mycroft, I'm giving you a job. Think you can handle it?"

He nodded furiously.

"I want you to promise me that you'll always look after your brother, ok? Make sure you always love and protect him."

Mycroft agreed solemnly. "Of course, Mummy."

Marie smiled at him. "And when Sherlock is old enough, he'll protect you back."

"Somehow, I doubt that." Mycroft joked. "He's the size of a bird!" As if hearing him, Sherlock crowed out an undistinguishable noise.

All eyes turned to him, and their mother held Sherlock with her hands firmly under his arms. "Here, Myc. Hold him gently."

She handed the boy to his brother, who stared at him. He was so cute; even if he hadn't promised Marie, he would've kept his baby brother safe no matter what. That's what family's for, after all.

Things blurred out again, and now Mycroft was twelve. He sat at his computer, typing up a story for his English homework. It was about a man who'd become trapped in his memory; he'd gotten the inspiration from a book of memory techniques. One technique he found immensely interesting was the 'mind palace'; it stated that whenever one wanted to remember something, they could travel to a certain place in their mind and simply dump the thoughts. When they returned, everything would still be there- effectively making it impossible to forget.

Hearing a ruckus from the corner, Mycroft looked over at his five year old brother. Sherlock was playing with blocks, stacking them up into a rainbow totem pole and then kicking it to bits. He raised an eyebrow at the toddler's shenanigans.

"What'cha doing there, 'Lock?"

"I'm bored," Sherlock said loudly. He collapsed facedown onto the couch. "Play with me."

"I have to finish this paper. Just a couple minutes, 'kay?"

Sherlock groaned an affirmative, laying there in a melancholy fashion. Hearing the tapping of Mycroft's fingers on the keyboard, he toddled over to him and looked over his shoulder.

"Mind palace?" What's that?

Mycroft turned around and looked at him, slightly confused. "What?"

"What, what?"

"Sherlock, you can read?" His auburn eyebrows furrowed in surprise.

"Yeah, can't everybody?" He said.

Pointing at the bright screen, Mycroft asked his brother, "Read that paragraph for me."

Sherlock clambered onto Mycroft's lap. The older boy's mouth dropped open when Sherlock started reading with perfect pronunciation and diction.

"Memory is the epicenter of humanity- what makes everyone who they are. If we couldn't remember all the who's and whats of everyday life, we would generally be unable to function. In the case of long-term memory, otherwise called semantic of episodic memory-"

Mycroft stopped him, looking astonished. "How long have you been able to read?" He questioned, turning Sherlock's stocky little body around to face him.

"I dunno, exactly," Sherlock scratched his head, coated in unmanageable curls. "'Fore I turned three...?"

"Jesus, Sherlock! Why didn't you mention this before?"

"Is that bad?" He looked at his brother timidly, tiny fingers fiddling with each other.

"No, that's fantastic! Most kids learn to read around 5, sometimes 6- but you're way, way more advanced- And no one even taught you? This is crazy!"

Hearing this, Sherlock grinned happily.

An hour later, Marie walked in the door to see her sons sitting on the navy blue, plush couch. Mycroft was reading to the smaller boy- it sounded like he was speaking in Old English, however. That was odd.

Placing her brown paper bags of groceries on the counter, she said, "Hey, boys. Anything happen while I was gone?"

Taking a break from reading, Mycroft looked up at her. His eyes hinted a touch of mischief. "Oh, not much."

"What are you reading?"

"Wuthering Heights, mummy!" Sherlock chimed in, snuggling up to his brother's side.

Their mom frowned. "Myc, that's way too hard for him. He's only five."

"Oh, really? Apparently, he's read this book twice before, Mum, by _himself_. The little thief has been stealing books from my room!" Myc laughed, and handed the book to Sherlock. The little boy flipped to a random page and started reading aloud to his flabbergasted mother.

"I was much vexed at her and the servant for their mutual revelations; having no doubt of Linton's approaching arrival, communicated by the former, being reported to Mr. Heathcliff; and feeling as confident that Catherine's first thought on her father's return would be to seek an explanation of the latter's assertion concerning his rude-bred kindred."

Before he could continue, Marie stared at him with wide eyes. Turning her attention to Mycroft she spoke. "You're kidding me."

"Not in the slightest," he returned, looking down proudly at his barnacle of a brother who'd latched onto his arm whilst biting his thumb.

His dream vision clouding over and clearing once more, Mycroft was bouncing up and down on the rickety bus seat. Though he was only fifteen years old, he was halfway through his last year of high school. Puberty had come and gone, leaving him long, thin and lanky with a bit of acne on his forehead which was thankfully covered by his shaggy auburn hair.

Being a straight A+ student in everything but Art, he'd easily skipped four grades- much to the astonishment of the school board. While he was good with people, his drawings of them looked generally like sloths.

At school, he was extremely well liked. Perpetually charming, the boy had won over just about every person at his school. Voted the President of the Student Counsel for 3 years in a row, everyone knew who the scholarly Mycroft Holmes was.

Unfortunately so- for the two boys now seated near him on the bus were being positively intolerable to him.

"You're such a nerd, Mycroft!"

"Yeah, is there something wrong with your brain?"

Laughing obnoxiously, one yelled, "Unless you find a blind girl, you'll never get laid!"

Mycroft ignored them, until they pulled out the nickname the duo had christened him with at school.

"Gingers have no souls, Mycrap!"

They laughed at their own stupidity, though the subject of their ridicule was fuming. He turned around, his eyes positively scary though he smiled politely.

"For one, I'd rather be a nerd than a low-life organism like you. Kindly keep your opinions to yourself, and I'll do the same."

Their dumb mouths hung open, trying to process what he'd said, until the bus halted.  
"I apologize for offending you," Mycroft said, then stuck his earbud back in.

Glaring at him, they flicked him off and filed off the bus. Smirking, Mycroft closed his eyes peacefully and listened to his dramatic orchestral playlist.

Twenty minutes later, the bus was rolling through a beautiful, unworn road between two green fields. No matter the weather, it always looked beautiful in Myc's neck of the woods. It'd been his mom's idea to live in the country- Thomas just went along for the ride to the beautiful 9-acre field framed by thick forests.

The bus finally stopped, and he nodded respectfully to his bus driver. Trotting down the stairs, he sat down at the base of the small oak tree he'd planted with Sherlock a few years back. The bus rolled away- it had looked very misplaced in the rural country land on the outskirts of London- and Mycroft rested his head on the tree as he closed his eyes. The wind rustled his hair, blowing gently on his freckled cheek. 'Odenall Pi', a Latin named song by E.S. Posthumus, played in the background.

Hearing another bus engine rumbling along the gravel road, Mycroft looked up to see his brother's long, yellow vehicle. Stopping with a _PSHH_ sound of the brakes sighing, an eight year old Sherlock got off and walked to his beloved brother's side. Sherlock, too, had skipped multiple grades. He was almost finished with fifth grade, when a normal boy his age would be in second.

His hair was as crazy as usual, in curls poking this way and that, but his face was stony and emotionless. Mycroft touched his shoulder. "What's wrong, Sherlock?"

He bit his lower, rectangular lip to keep from crying, but it didn't work. Sherlock's big, blue eyes welled up like salty oceans and spilled over the abyss of his lower lashes. Hiding his face, he sat down against the tree and hid his face against his knees.

"Oh, goodness," Mycroft said, inwardly panicking. "What's the matter?" Hearing a few sobs from his brother, he put an arm around his shaking shoulders and hugged him close. "Come on, tell me. I'm always here for you," he said awkwardly, trying to mimic his mother.

"People are-" he hiccuped. "-stupid." And, melting into his big brother, Sherlock spilled his issues.

As it turned out, everyone at his school had been making fun of him for his weight. Sherlock had always been a bit on the chubby side, but was now bordering on overweight- this, however, was no excuse for dicks like Jonathan Anderson relentlessly calling him a "beached whale" and "a tub of lard".

Sniffing, Sherlock wiped his tears away. His brother looked furious.

"I'm going to find that little rat, and skin him alive-"

"No!" Sherlock cried. At a questioning look from Mycroft, he continued. "I... Want to fight my own battles, for once. You always do everything for me, which is... Thanks. But I just want to handle this myself." His voice was small.

Mycroft understood. He'd had a hard time in elementary school as well, but no one had stepped in to fix all his problems. Sometimes, a kid's got to stand up to his own bullies. He hated the idea of his little brother being verbally abused- those buffoons didn't have a clue at how gifted Sherlock really was- but 'bodyguard' wasn't his role to play.

"Well, let's go home, ok? Judo practice is in an hour."

"Do I have to go?" Sherlock sniffed. The last traces of his tears had disappeared, the wind drying them in their paths down his cheeks.

"Not if you don't want to," Mycroft returned.

Their feet making a crunching sound on the gravel pavement, they headed home. Marie was asleep in her and Thomas's shared room, so they tried to be quiet. She hadn't been getting much sleep lately; random insomnia had plagued her for a week. Their dad was on his way home from work from a nearby city, as a construction worker.

To cheer up his brother, Mycroft pulled out a hot cocoa mix and boiled some water. He gazed pensively at the water, bubbling away and occasionally glancing at Sherlock. He was laying on the couch, '_The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe' _spread out before him.

Pouring the water out into a mug and watching it steam like a sauna, he mixed in the light brown power. As the water absorbed it, getting thicker and darker with every turn of the spoon's embroidered handle, Mycroft tossed a few mini marshmallows into it for good measure.

Carrying it over to Sherlock on a tiny plate, he set it on the table neighboring the couch. Mycroft noticed that he was reading 'The Pit and the Pendulum'- one of his favorites. Unsurprisingly, the brothers had very similar tastes in literature; a bit on the old side, realistic, creative and sometimes rather demented.

"Here, Sherl." He said softly. "Cheer up."

"Thanks," he replied, his voice quiet.

Mycroft nodded concernedly. "I'm going to go get ready for judo," he said, walking off to his room.

Sherlock nodded. Disappearing around the corner, Mycroft didn't see his little brother stirring the hot chocolate with a melancholy expression on his face. Seeing the marshmallows, Sherlock was reminded of his school day- being called a freak by a girl who'd passed him in the hallway. She didn't even know him.

Standing up, he went over to the sink and poured the steamy beverage down the drain. The marshmallows tried to fight against the chocolate current, but they too were swept overboard. Rinsing out the mug and setting it down, he went back to the couch and continued with Edgar Allen Poe's dreary tales.

On his way down the hall, Mycroft opened the door to his room and stepped inside. Instead of his room, though, he was now in the car with his dad. Sitting in the passenger seat, they sat in silence. It didn't bother either of them; Thomas Holmes was a naturally quiet man, who preferred to listen and give sound advice to others. A kind, honorable family man, he was very proud of his little family. Two genius sons, and a wife like none other.

"What'd you learn in judo today, Myc?" He asked, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel in time with the radio. Piano notes floated softly through the stagnant air of the car, and Mycroft's eyes lit up.

"We learned how to break an attacker's neck with a headlock! It was the coolest thing," he said.

His father chuckled at his son's enthusiasm. "Well, I'd like to see someone try and mess with you now!"

The ginger teenager smiled, looking at the clouds that drifted along outside their vehicle. They drove on a long, black road, the only car in sight- their home was far from civilization, just how all four of them liked it.

Thomas added another footnote onto his statement. "Just don't go snapping any random person's neck, alright? With great power-"

"Comes great responsibility, I know."

"Good talk." His father grinned at him, blue eyes shining. He then turned his attention back to the road ahead, leaving Mycroft to dream about the guys on his bus flopping around, spineless, like halibuts that had just been clobbered with a hammer.

More memories clouding before his eyes in a blossom of gray, like a drop of water clearing the pigment off a watercolor painting, he now stood in a hospital. His brother was seated in one of the colorless rooms, a white sheet pulled over his sickly thin legs. Just looking at Sherlock's emaciated form made Mycroft's heart ache. A psychologist was seated by Sherlock's side, her blonde hair curled in sickening poofs on either side of her head underneath her ears. She smelled of hairspray, makeup and an overload of perfume. Sherlock couldn't see his family outside the windows; they were strategically tinted so they could see him, but not the other way around. Both brothers hated it, thinking it felt like a demented zoo. Upon seeing the woman enter the room, he gave Mycroft (where he expected him to be, anyway) a look that clearly said "Are you freaking kidding me."

Chuckling, Mycroft pulled out his phone. He took a picture of his face, sticking his lower lip out in a sympathetic pout.

A second later, Sherlock's phone beeped. Picking it up, he clicked the center button with his bony thumb. He laughed out loud at his brother's face, effectively pissing off the psychologist so much that she stood up and left.

Opening the door, she walked over to Marie and Thomas. Marie was beside herself, blubbering things like "How could I have not noticed", and "I'm a horrible mother." Thomas rubbed her back consolingly, and looked at the blonde woman with pleading eyes. Mycroft tuned in.

"What's the news?"

She exhaled mightily. "Your son... Is a very special boy."

"What do you mean by that?" Whispered Myc's mom, her voice cracking.

"Well, medically, he has extreme anorexia. Losing one hundred pounds in under 6 months is no mean feat- he starved himself for weeks, to the point that food is not even appealing to him anymore."

Marie Holmes started sobbing again, but the good doctor- Mycroft couldn't remember her name- wasn't finished.

"I've also diagnosed him with Aspergers. You are familiar with it?" She asked, her irritating voice sounding like she needed to blow her nose mightily.

"Refresh my memory, please." Thomas inquired.

"Aspergers is a syndrome, with effects such as significant avoidance with social interaction. Their behavior is very repetitive, with odd interests and speech patterns. Some talk endlessly to people they like, but not at all to the folks they don't- also, they are characterized by having extremely limited empathy skills that are just short of sociopathy." Looking at the family's shocked faces, she asked, "Is this in accordance with your son's behavior?"

Mycroft's voice, which had deepened to its final tone in the past year, spoke up. "That's Sherlock in a nutshell. He always wears the same exact coat and scarf- can't function without them. Never talks to a single person at his school anymore, but never shuts up at home."

Regarding the tall, handsome boy standing in front of her, the doctor nodded. "But, generally, it's not a hard condition to live with. Your brother may not make friends very easily, and may be offensive to people without realizing he's done so." Looking at the distraught parents, she said, "He'll be released from the hospital in about a week on his current diet, but you need to make absolutely sure that he's eating normally. A scan of his stomach showed that he hadn't eaten for four days before being admitted here."

They nodded, and looked sadly through the window at their son. His cheekbones, previously with a layer of chubbiness overtop, now stuck out dangerously. His twelve year old face was long and bony, unhealthily pale.

Remembering the scene from the previous day, Mycroft shuddered; he'd walked into his room to see Sherlock standing in front of his bookshelf. He'd assumed nothing was wrong- his parents blamed the extreme weight loss on puberty.

But then, he'd started swaying on his feet before falling straight into the shelf, hitting his head on the way down before Mycroft sprinted over and caught him, in a panic. Sherlock had fainted.

Sighing, he opened the door into his brother's hospital chamber. But instead, Myc was transported to his room. Sherlock, still extremely thin, sat huddled on his bed in a fetal position. He knew why; from outside, Mycroft heard his parents screaming at each other. Thomas had been going heavy on the alcohol, and was drunkenly swearing at his wife who sobbed whilst retorting back.

The boys were now much older. Sherlock was eleven, the seven years in between making Mycroft eighteen.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Mycroft comforted his little brother. "It's alright. They'll quit soon."

Sherlock grumbled, "And then start again in an hour."

Finally, the raised voices quieted to a silent lull. Sherlock sighed in relief. "Oh, hallelujah."

Ruffling his brother's hair, Mycroft silently agreed.

Pushing himself off the bed and striding out, Sherlock saluted before clicking the door shut and heading to his own room. Though he hated to admit it, he preferred having Mycroft close for moral support when these things happened.

Turning to his side table, Myc found an encoded letter. Smiling slightly, he picked it up and started reading. It was in a Caesar cipher, fairly easy to crack.

When he was finished, the letter read,  
_Greetings, sir Mycroft! I trust you are doing well? Good. You shall need your strength for the coming puzzle. _

_I've hidden your favorite book somewhere on the continent. Your clue? What's patch on patch, with a hole in the middle? _

_Until later, my finest soldier. I'm off to sail the high seas.'  
~Captain Sherlock_

Mycroft laughed shortly. His baby brother, though having the intuitive mind of a college graduate, could be so childish sometimes.

Then, Myc heard a noise from the other room. Stopping to listen again, he heard it- a dull thud, barely recognizable from the silence. Poking his head out the door and walking down the hall, he heard his father's drunken voice.

"Caused this family... SO MUCH _trouble_..." _THUD_.

Running into the side room off the hall leading to their recently refurbished bathroom, Mycroft stopped dead in his tracks.

His once calm, loving dad was _beating _Sherlock.

Raising his fist again, he was about to box Sherlock across the face again before Mycroft ran between them and caught his arm. Yes, Thomas was a construction worker and therefore very strong- but in his Judo lessons, Mycroft had learned more than enough to deflect the flow of blunt, uncoordinated energy.

"Dad! What the hell are you doing?!" He yelled, struggling to keep his father's arm from smashing down upon himself.

Thomas didn't seem to be capable of human speech anymore. He roared, trying to toss his oldest son aside, to no avail. Mycroft hooked an arm around his throat, securing it with his other elbow sticking into the sensitive spot where one's neck and shoulder met. The neck-breaking choke hold.

Mycroft remembered his mother's words from so many years ago, still unforgettable.

_"I want you to promise me that you'll always look after your brother, ok? Make sure you always love and protect him."_

He saw red, and his grip tightened on his abusive father's throat. "Get out, Thomas. Now."

"I- am- your father-" he drawled, his breath smelling like whiskey and rancid milk.

"I don't give a damn," Mycroft said, creepily soft. He still appeared calm, even when his feelings were overflowing with hate. "You're going to get out of this house. And, you won't ever come back."

"Or WHAT?" his father snarled.

"Or I'll snap your neck."

Sherlock's eyes widened at his brother, two plums short of a murder pie. "Myc!"

"This bastard doesn't deserve to live another second!" He yelled. "Now, get _out_!"  
Releasing Thomas' throat, the tall man stumbled out into the hall. Mycroft watched him blunder off, making sure he was out from under their roof, then sprinted to the door and locked it behind him.

Running back to Sherlock, he picked his frail body off the floor. "Sherlock, are you alright?" He asked quickly, hugging his brother to his chest.

Sherlock nodded slightly. "Yup."

"Thank god."

"Myc... Why did you do that?"

"What?" Mycroft asked, nonplused.

"I thought I told you... That I can fight my own battles." The preteen was shaking.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but he was hitting you-"

"You didn't have to do anything!" Sherl cried, attacking Mycroft repeatedly with his small, harmless fists. "Do you even know how Mummy will take this?!"

His eyes widened while looking down at the angry child. "She didn't deserve to be around him one more second, 'Lock!"

Then, Marie's voice called down the hallway. "Thomas? Tom, where are you? I'm sorry!"

She was answered by silence.

Her tearstained face came around the doorway, seeing the fighting brothers. "What on earth's going on?" She asked. This was one of the first times they'd ever fought.

"Mycroft- I HATE YOU!" Sherlock screamed.

That was the last clear memory. A cacophony of more recent thoughts cascaded through his overworked mind.

Meeting Sherlock outside on his case with the cabbie.

"You know how it upsets Mummy."

"I'm not the one who upset her!"

Then, meeting with John in his study.

"A childish feud-"

Then, everything skipped to the present. It fast-forwarded in a steep blur, until- he snapped like a rubber band snapped to the present.

In reality, Mycroft was still in the hallway. What felt like years in his dreamlike state was barely a few seconds in the waking world. Somehow, he felt as if he were floating; fluttering down, if a dreamlike state could be described as "fluttering", he stood beside himself on the stretcher. Everything was slightly blurry and white, like looking at the world through a pearl colored curtain.

The doctor rushed down the hallway, manning the Queen's stretcher. He looked very panicked. "He's lost a lot of blood," he called, tossing his head to the side to regard Sherlock. "I'd say almost three and a half pints."

Sherlock watched as his brother's face became more and more ashen. "Then get him a transfusion, now!" Sherlock practically yelled at the doctor. He knew that once a human has lost 4 pints of blood, their circulatory system will shut down- causing permanent cardiac arrest. In other terms, death.

"What's his blood type?" The medical professional asked his scarfed companion urgently.

"A negative," Mycroft tried to say, but no one knew he was there. Sherlock had things handled, however.

"A negative!"

The doc barked at the nurse guiding the other end of the stretcher. "You heard him, Maggie!"

They finally wheeled him into an emergency care room as the young girl took off sprinting.

Reading the dark-haired man's nametag who Sherlock was trusting with his older brother's life, he now knew himself to be in the presence of a Doctor Zachariah Beck. Zach, shall we call him, sanitized the bloody chasm in record speed. Pulling out thread and suture, he laced it up like a shoe's strings.

Nurse Maggie ran in while he did this, looking panicked and holding only one blood bag. "Sir, the truck hasn't come yet! It's scheduled to arrive in an hour, and we've only got one pint of A negative!" She inserted an IV into Mycroft's right arm, opposite from the stitched one. Hooking the blood bag onto a clear tube, she pressed a button. Sherlock watched as the blood bag slowly emptied into its recipient.

"What about the O?" Dr. Beck said, finishing with his fleshy patchwork doll.

"All gone, used it up this morning on the teens in that car accident!" Maggie wrung her hands in despair.

"Then we better find somebody with A negative blood, and pretty fucking quickly!"

Sherlock spoke up. "I'm A negative, we're brothers."

Not stopping to compare the brothers who looked nothing alike, Zachariah nodded. "Rh antigen?"

"We're both positive! So, take my blood and stop wasting time!" The mop of curly hair's owner couldn't begin to put all the urgency he felt into his angry words. He grabbed at a side table, covered in medical supplies, for the blood taking device.

Seeing his actions, the doctor called,"Hold on, I've got to find a vein- What are you doing?"

Sherlock had jammed the needled end of the device into the inside of his forearm, ignoring the yells of "Stop! Wait!" from the doctor. Everything looked and sounded so distant.

Dr. Beck grabbed the detective's arm, being surprised to see that Sherlock had inserted it correctly. He started working, the blood bag already connected to Mycroft three quarters of the way empty.

The small vial in Zachariah's calloused hand filled with the dark red, life giving fluid. "I'm gonna need to take 4 of these to get two pints," Zach told his donor. "He's gotten one already, and his heart can pump out another half a pint." A second vial was put aside as he spoke. One done, one to go.

Sherlock nodded curtly, watching as his arm grew paler and paler. It felt like an eternity for the second pint to be extracted- every moment was making his brother's heart work harder.

Finally, the deed was done. The two fresh pints of Sherlock's blood drained into Mycroft's empty veins, a machine detailing the action of the unconscious man's fluttering heartbeat with a rythmic, yet irregular beep. The helpless figure did indeed look like a patchwork doll that someone had sewn out of white fabric, then forgotten to take their needles out of. They stuck out of him every which way, in an unnatural sight.

Doctor Beck sighed in momentary relief. "That's all we can do for him right now."

Sherlock felt weak, but stood as still as a scarecrow. "Thank you."

Zach nodded. He understood perfectly how the stress of a wounded family member doesn't exactly make one the most civil person in the world. He then left, the door making a soft click of absence.

Staring at Mycroft sadly, Sherlock sighed. This was all his fault. He'd been so overconfident, so eager to return to his depressed family, that he must have missed one of the disgusting rats formally called assassins. And, his big brother had paid dearly for a mistake that wasn't even his own.

He took Mycroft's hand, feeling how limp and lifeless it was. Tears sprung to his eyes- they seemed to be doing that a lot, to everybody as of late.

"You're going to be fine, Myc," Sherlock whispered. "You'll pull through. I'm so sorry."

When said man gave no response whatsoever, the black coated man released his hand reluctantly. He had to return to the three waiting for him outside.

Getting to the door, he opened it and put one foot out. Turning his head, he looked upon Mycroft again. "See you later."

The door clicked shut for a second time, it's wooden frame supporting a fighter who sagged defeatedly against it.

Inside, unbeknownst to the visitor who'd just left, Mycroft's eyes shot open. Blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the light, Mycroft looked at the door to see his baby brother's tall form striding away through the glass panel. His eyes filled with emotional tears, and his thin lips quivered.

Mycroft had seen everything.

**Author's Note: And there we are. There are little hints all throughout the chapter, which I hope made sense. Review, my lovelies! Oh, and I highly recommend listening to Odenall Pi by E.S. Posthumus. It's beautiful, yearning and dramatic- like, God's jogging music! **


	12. Chapter 12: Loose Ends

**A.N.: Ok, I am SO SORRY for the ridiculously long wait. I suck. Really badly. End-of-year tests caught up to me, as well as not wanting to finish the story. That's right, folks; The Doctor, Detective and Company is coming to an end. **

**Chapter Twelve: Loose Ends**

Sebastian lay in bed, his eyes shut and his mind in turmoil. As a sociopath, he really felt nothing in the "love" department regarding Moriarty's death. Rather, he felt the closest thing to it; a dull ache in his heart, and confusion as to what to do next.

His fingers twisted themselves relentlessly into the dark green covers. He knew he had an obligation to take care of Andrea, even though they weren't always on the best of terms with each other. She'd been exceedingly quiet since her father's death, which was only to be expected; but Sebastian wasn't quite sure what to do.

Andrea went to school, she came home, locked herself in her room and didn't speak a word- though he could see the empty, haunted look in the girl's eyes. Watching your only flesh and blood tie to the world be shot through the head isn't exactly something one can bounce back from- Andrea was simply gone.

Heaving himself up from the bed, Sebastian let out a sigh. Trodding down the hall, he knocked lightly on his adopted daughter of sorts' door. As he expected, there was no answer. Slumping against the door, Sebastian sighed and stared at the wall, a deep loneliness crawling out of his long repressed emotions.

Andrea, however, had never heard the knock- she was miles away. The only response to the man's attempt at communication was the cold breeze making its way under her door, from the open window she'd clambered out of. The abandoned curtains blew softly in the afternoon air, waving a tentative goodbye to the girl who had walked morosely down the sidewalk.

If Sebastian was affected by the death of Moriarty, his daughter was five hundred times more so. She longed and longed for the crazed, psychotic man to reappear at their doorstep, laughing and saying "Did you idiots honestly think I was dead?"

But, he never came. And the more she wished for the missing chunk of her life, the more the emptiness consumed her and filled her with the personality she'd been craving to find. It welled up in her mind like unassuming red wine tinged with poison, and contaminated everything. For all intents and purposes, Andrea Moriarty had turned into her father.

She'd been the one to slice up Mycroft's arm, and had laughed while doing it. The stupid man had never seen it coming- the British Government had been making a cup of tea when the arm pouring hot water had been violently and nearly severed off.

When John walked into Mycroft's large, foppish mansion to find the man bleeding to death, she'd almost laughed out loud- until Sherlock walked in. Suppressing a scream of rage- how the hell was he alive?!- she hid behind the couch, fingers itching to wrap themselves around his trachea, squeezing until she saw the life leave the detective's steely eyes. Consoling herself and running her manicured nails over the bloody knife, Andrea repeated to herself that she would kill him. There would be no mistakes this time, and all of London would see his dead, rotting corpse on display while crows pecked out his eyes.

They'd left with Mycroft in tow, too busy to even begin searching for the intruder. Andrea stretched out on the couch, smiling to herself and humming. It was only a matter of time.

Confident that Mycroft was dead despite the hospital's valiant efforts, she simply needed to wait for the crime solving party to return. Then, she'd sink her knife into each one's heart in turn, regardless of involvement with her father's death.

She didn't have to wait long.

Sherlock walked up to Mycroft's front door, glaring at anything that happened to be in his line of vision. The large, mahogany door was his only obstacle, which he pushed casually out of the way. John trailed concernedly behind him, taking in his surroundings as if it might be useful. Adrienne and Paige had been given orders to stay in the cab, which they unwillingly did. John had almost gone to the lengths of handcuffing them to the door handles, and they sat angrily inside the musty smelling vehicle.

Stepping into his brother's house, Sherlock started to applaud. "Well done," he called loudly.

John looked at him questioningly, but still kept his eyes trained on any disturbances in the shadows.

Andrea smirked, hauling herself off the couch. Show time.

When she walked into the room Sherlock and John occupied, Andrea was pleased to see John's jaw almost hit the floor. Holmes' expression, however, held nothing.

"Hello!" She greeted cheerily, in a sing song voice. As Andrea waved at them, John felt a twinge of recognition at the voice. She sounded...exactly like her father.

"Andrea," greeted Sherlock coldly, almost as if they were having afternoon tea. "I assume you were the rat who pulled a sneak attack on Mycroft?"

Said girl put a hand over her heart in mock surprise. "Rat? I was under the impression that you appreciated violence, Mr. Holmes! If I recall correctly, you described mercury coated candy wrappers as 'neat'."

"I appreciate well thought out crimes. Your dad? He was a genius. But you...you have no clue what you're doing."

She snarled. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm going to kill you, both of you, so slowly that you beg for death. No, wait- I think I'll start with your darling little girls first."

John was suddenly glad they'd left Adi and Paige in the car, though he was hardly intimidated by the teenage girl in front of him. "Oh, I'm sure," he muttered, glaring into Andrea's chocolate brown eyes.

He didn't miss her act of unlocking her IPhone, and theatrically pressing another homemade app with a flourish.

Outside, the girls were complaining about their predicament.

"Ugh. I feel like a two year old," Paige pouted, looking over at her counterpart who looked about ready to scream.

Adrienne huffed angrily, staring out the window at their uncle's house. Then, she peered closer; the silhouette in the window was decidedly not Sherlock or John's, but looked quite familiar. Was that...?

A tinkle of a ringtone came from the front seat of their cab. A gruff voice spoke up. "Welp, guess it's time to go." The man grunted.

Turning to him, Adrienne was about to ask what he meant- before he opened their door, grabbed them roughly by the arms and hauled them outside the cab.

Adrienne flailed angrily, spitting every curse word she knew from gritted teeth. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"You didn't think you could get rid of Moriarty altogether, did'j-AGH!" He yelped as Paige sank her teeth into his hairy, disgusting arm.

She was rewarded with a backhand from his now profusely bleeding arm. "Ya little bitch! I hope she slits your throat first," he roared, dragging them inside the manor.

John and Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight of Paige and Adrienne being towed by the hair and tossed onto the carpet before Andrea. The Asian girl looked up, her eyes full of horror. "Andrea? What the-"

Paige finished her sentence. "The fuck is going on here?!"

"Like you don't know?" Andrea snarled, delivering a sharp kick to Adrienne's ribs. She gasped in pain, and Sherlock felt his blood begin to boil.

"Please, enlighten us." He said in his deep, baritone voice. "Because you seem to be the only one here who knows what's going on."

Rolling her eyes in disgust, Andrea explained. "As you damn well know, you're the reason my father is _DEAD_!" She screamed the last bit, sounding eerily like the man she spoke of.

"How so?" Asked Sherlock.

Andrea was getting very impatient. "You shot him. Through the head. Coming back to you now?" She barked, as realization washed over the detective's face like a wave washing away a sandcastle of confusion.

"Uhm," Paige piped up from the floor, "about that..."

John willed her to be quiet, and winced in anticipation of the sure to come rib-kicking- but he was surprised.

Paige seemed to have been counting on Andrea's actions, and grabbed her ankle with the grip strength of a gorilla. While she was unbalanced, Adrienne rolled under the lifted foot and onto her knees, finally kicking Andrea's legs out from under her by assaulting the back of her knees.

Andrea gasped in surprise, while her knife- that she'd been fingering behind her back, itching to slit one of the girls at her feet's throats- flew across the floor and slid under the mahogany couch.

John took his advantage, and placed a foot on Andrea's chest to prevent her struggling. It wasn't a painful foothold, but firm nonetheless. "You alright?" He asked his daughters hurriedly, to which they nodded. Paige had a split lip and Adrienne would likely develop multiple bruises, but it was nothing compared to the alternative.

Sherlock walked up, looking her straight in the eye and admiring the lack of fear he saw there. Time to set the record straight.

"I didn't kill your father, Andrea. Nobody did."

Her eyes narrowed murderously. "Then why did I bury his corpse with a bullet wound through his head?!"

He sighed wearily at her lack of reasonable thinking- it had flown out the window along with rational thought at the loss of her only family member. "If you had examined the wound before going bat shit crazy, you would have seen the bullet wound sever his lower spinal cord- accessible primarily through the mouth. Why would I ever choose to shoot him there?" He continued before Andrea could interrupt again. "He killed himself, Andrea," he said softly, pitying her.

Her eyes widened at what she knew to be true, but refused to believe. "YOU'RE LYING!" She snarled at him, writhing under John's foot to no avail.

"His death was no one's fault but his own," Paige said softly, taking one of Andrea's hands which was balled up into such a tight fist that her nails were stained with blood. "I'm so sorry."

Finally, she gave up. Andrea went limp and began to sob. John removed his booted foot, and Adrienne hugged her consolingly. They understood- they'd gone through the whole thing as well, albeit less violently. The "he can't be dead, that's impossible" phase was all too familiar.

Helping Andrea to her feet, she wiped the tears away ashamedly. They left a streak of black on her cheeks from her mascara. "I'm... I have to go." She said, so softly they could barely hear her. Pushing against John's shoulder that blocked her from the exit, she sprinted away- leaving the door hang wide open, the breeze ruffling Sherlock's unruly curls.

"Well," John remarked, "That was productive."

She ran through the crowded streets from whence she came, desperate to be home again. When she got there, Andrea threw herself through the front door of the apartment and slumped against the wall.

Down the hall, Sebastian heard the thump. His eyes shot open, thinking, '_Oh, hell no. You picked the wrong house to break into, buddy.' _But when he got into the hall, he found Andrea curled up against the wall with her head hidden in her knees and shielded by her arms.

'_Well crap_,' he thought, when he saw that she was crying. _'I'm a man, I don't know how to handle this stuff.' _But nevertheless, he bent down and placed a hand on her shaking shoulder.

"Andrea, are you alright?" Sebastian asked awkwardly, seeing as she most certainly was not.

Recounting the tale to him, Sebastian felt the ache inside him grow larger and larger. Moriarty hadn't even thought of them- his family- in his final moments. He'd killed himself in an attempt to gain more, ignoring what he already had.

Andrea hiccuped, and looked up at Sebastian hopefully. "Sebby... You'll never leave me, right?"

His soul felt crushed. Pulling her to his broad chest and stroking her hair lovingly, he said softly; "You're my daughter, Andrea. And unlike Moriarty-" he paused, wondering if that was insensitive- "I'm never going to let you go."

They stayed that way for the rest of the night; just sitting on the leather couch, sharing in mutual grief. They didn't say anything, and didn't have to.

* * *

It was now a month since the incident; Mycroft was fully healed and living in his mansion again. His only remark to returning home was to stare around in horror at his furniture in disarray, yelling "What did you do, throw a party while I was dying?"

Mycroft remembered everything from the hospital, and looked smugly back at the memory of Sherlock's sentiment. He was also incredibly touched.

But, the Holmes' don't remain in debt to anyone, be it family or otherwise. And, as Christmas was the next day, he'd planned everything out.

At 221B, Christmas was literally right around the corner. Garlands hung from everything, with a large, obnoxious Christmas tree adorning the center of the small room. At its base was a small mountain of gifts for all of them, both purchased and made. Paige had written '_From Santa'_ on the labels, while Adrienne rolled her eyes in amused distaste.

They'd both shared a large amount of fun while hanging mistletoe sprigs over every doorway and even over their father's armchairs. It was unavoidable that John or Sherlock didn't pass underneath one of the leaved mischief makers, no matter how hard or creatively they tried to evade them, and the girls insisted that they kiss every time.

Sherlock would glare at them, but willingly kiss his partner in crime. John always blushed in abashment, but Sherlock didn't let him escape. The owner of glorious cheekbones had bided his time long enough.

Finally, Christmas Day arrived. Adrienne slid hyperactively down the hallway, singing at the top of her lungs. From upstairs, John and Sherlock's eyes fluttered open in their now-shared bed. Smirking slightly, John stretched and heard satisfying pops from his back.

"We'd better go," he murmured softly, running his hands through Sherlock's hair. "Before they burn the house down again."

The sleepy Sherlock Holmes groaned in displeasure. "Who invented Christmas, John."

John pecked him on the lips, admiring their perfect bow shape. "That would be Jesus, hun." The endearment felt strange on his tongue, but somehow right.

"Why did he have to be born so early?!" Questioned Sherlock, but he heaved himself out of bed anyway.

Trudging downstairs, the taller man looking murderously sleepy, they made their way into the kitchen. Paige was nursing a cup of coffee, reflecting her father's half asleep expression. "At least you weren't pulled out of bed by your feet," she said, holding up a finger to Sherlock. "Don't even complain."

"Come on, guys!" Adrienne squealed, slapping John repeatedly on his muscled forearm. "It's Christmas! Where's your holiday cheer?"

Sherlock was about to reply that his holiday cheer had been left behind in bed, when they heard the door to 221B fly open. Peering around the corner, John looked like he might die of asphyxiation.

"Merry Christmas!" Roared Mycroft, who was sporting a red satin Santa hat and hauling a sack over his shoulder. He was wearing a bright green sweater that clashed horribly with his auburn hair, and his umbrella was covered in golden glitter.

Sherlock just about spit taked Paige with her own coffee he'd stolen from her. "What the-"

"Dance with me, Sherlock!" Said Mycroft happily, and dragged him into the center of the living room. He then proceeded to do the tango, with a furiously struggling little brother.

"Christmas is not an excuse to assault people!" He screeched, pulling away finally and running to hide behind John, looking traumatized. Not as traumatized as their neighbors at 222B, though, who'd just heard that last statement.

Paige was almost crying with laughter, and Adrienne was just staring at her uncle with her mouth hanging open. Finally, she said, "Nope. Five hundred percent done, alright."

They spent the day together, huddled next to the fire and the Christmas tree while snow fluttered down from the heavens. It was a picture perfect Christmas, with a rather assorted bunch; a vibrantly dressed British government who had his arm slung across his Consulting Detective brother's shoulders- the product of adding too much vodka to his eggnog- who eyed him warily. To Sherlock's other side was John, the ever faithful ex-army doctor, who rested his head on Sherlock's lap. Paige and Adrienne, the adopted miscreants, were seated on the couch above them, attempting to braid Sherlock's hair.

Mycroft's unintelligible muttering was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. John got up reluctantly. "I'll get it," he announced, and the girls trailed after him.

To say that they were surprised would have been an understatement. Standing at the door was Andrea and Sebastian, dressed in heavy winter coats, looking as though they were traveling. Andrea was staring at her boots ashamedly, while Sebastian comforted her with a gloved hand on her back.

"Uh...hey," she greeted. "I just wanted to say Merry Christmas, I guess."

John smiled widely at them. "And to you. Would you like to come in? We've got plenty of junk food!" He said cheerily.

"Nah, that's alright," Sebastian answered. "We were just on our way to the airport."

Adrienne spoke up. "The airport? Where are you headed?"

"Thought we'd travel, and see the world." Said Andrea, looking at her two friends shyly. "Not much left to do here, without Moriarty."

John was about to say something, but she beat him to it. "I'm so, so sorry about what I did the other day. I was a freaking idiot, and I hope you can forgive me."

"No hard feelings." Drawled a certain detective who had trudged to the front door.

"We understand completely." John nodded at her. "Mycroft might not, though," he joked.

"Thanks." She said gratefully, before screeching in surprise. Paige had launched herself from the threshold, pouncing on Andrea in a bear hug of death.

Adrienne joined in, and Sebastian looked down at the dog pile questioningly while Andrea yelled, "Really, guys?! Really!"

They laughed and helped her up, before embracing her again. Adrienne was sniffing back tears. "We'll miss you, Andrea. You were the best friend in the world. You know, before you tried to kill us," Paige joked. "You better video chat us every single day!"

"I will!" Andrea laughed. "You might hunt me down if I don't!"

"That's right," Adi said. "We got guns for Christmas, and we'll find you."

Holding her hands up in mock surrender, Andrea gave them air kisses before locking her arm together with Sebby and backing down the snow covered sidewalk. "Bye, guys!" She called, one last time before her black peacoat was simply a smudge in the distance. "Love you, bitches!"

And with that, the father-daughter duo was off to start their new life.

Retreating back into the warm, toasty flat, the family reveled at how the holidays had a knack for bringing people together. Mycroft, who had gifted Sherlock two pints of blood as a Christmas gift- which he insisted was unrelated to any such hospital trip- was tickling Adrienne yet again. She was trying to bury herself under the couch cushions as Paige threw rainbow confetti over the two.

She paused in her confetti throwing to see Sherlock and John, laughing- under the mistletoe.

"Guys! You have to KISS!"

"SHUT UP, YOU!"


	13. Epilogue

**A.N: Well, here we are; the end. I sincerely thank all of my readers and reviewers for reading what started out as just a silly idea with a friend. We love each and every one of you. Enjoy. **

**Epilogue**

"Bye, dad," Sniffed a young Asian woman with a short, spiky haircut.

John Watson, in his late forties, stood in front of her, barely holding it together. His eyes were red from restrained tears, and his hair had gone full out gray, without flecks of brown or blonde in it anymore. Time had passed.

Sherlock had his back to them. He looked the same as ever; his dark hair growing in a curled hurricane on his head, and slender as always. But, there were a few crows feet that he'd never admit were the product of laughter wrinkling the corners of his bluish gray eyes. Five year's worth, actually. The girls were now nineteen.

But now, his mouth turned down at the corners, his bottom lip trembling- but the great detective Sherlock Holmes never cried.

Mycroft was in the same predicament. He stood off in a corner, pretending to be incredibly fascinated with a little wooden duck.

Paige, looking much the same, but with longer hair and a thinner face, lugged her bags down the hall from her and Adrienne's room. There was a large suitcase, including everything she owned, and another briefcase including all of her artwork and supplies that would let her live her dream as an artist.

Adrienne's belongings were already packed away in the car, all ready for her studies in maritime archaeology. Life was calling them, each in their separate directions.

Adrienne finally burst into tears, hugging John as tightly as she possibly could. Sherlock and Paige made their way over, the detective letting out a few tears into the top of John's head, which set him off into waterworks as well. Mycroft stood by, patting them on the shoulder and smiling awkwardly before Sherlock's arm shot out and yanked him into the circle. Sherlock's long arms wrapped around them all, and how long they stood there, they couldn't say until the unusual family pulled away. Sherlock wiped his tears on his scarf, and John sniffed. The "ice man" pretended that that hug wasn't one of his favorite moments in all of time.

Paige and Adrienne peered up at John, Sherlock and Mycroft; the family who'd made their lives the best they could've ever dreamed. They shared one last hug with everyone separately.

"Remember what I taught you. Don't trust anyone shady." Sherlock chided.

John added in his input, "And don't be afraid to kick any bastards in the jewels."

"Eloquent as always," came Mycroft's remark.

And with a few more tears and hugs, the girls slid into their awaiting cab. The engine started, and in a small puff of exhaust, they started away from the small party watching.

"I can't believe..." John said to his husband softly, peering up at his saddened expression sympathetically. "I can't believe they grew up so fast."

Sherlock couldn't stop another tear from falling down his porcelain cheek. "Think they'll be ok?"

From down the road, the car steadily taking them away from their family and their home, the girls nodded at each other. Paige pulled out her gun, with Adrienne mirroring the action- a final present from their soldier- and each stuck an arm out their window.

They fired three shots in succession, making Sherlock's eyes crinkle into yet another smile. He hugged the shorter man to his side, and put his arm around his brother in a rare show of affection.

They could just make out two yells in the distance.

_"On our way!" _

_The End_


End file.
